


Regency Harmony

by Renny236



Category: Harry Potter - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Non-Explicit Sex, Regency Romance, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-28
Updated: 2021-01-18
Packaged: 2021-03-04 12:01:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 21
Words: 57,514
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24969370
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Renny236/pseuds/Renny236
Summary: Once upon a time, Lord Harry Potter was introduced to Miss Hermione Granger.  Suddenly, the plans for his life took a very different turn.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Harry Potter
Comments: 107
Kudos: 166





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I saw a request for Regency stories on the Harmony 18+ FB page. I did not know that was even a thing, and have read exactly zero of them, but here we go. With profuse apologies to both JK Rowling and Georgette Heyer....

Once upon a time, long before his future namesake and great-great-great-great-great-grandchild would ever have to worry about soul fragments of a Dark Lord....

May 11, 1814

Harry, Lord Potter stood in the Almack’s receiving room, contemplating a deliberate violation of the Statute of Secrecy. 

He knew he probably shouldn’t use his wand to confound the Almack’s representative who was reminding him that no one was allowed in after 11 pm, not even the Duke of Wellington. He didn’t even particularly enjoy Almack’s - what man could, with its insipid refreshments and all of the avaricious matrons determined to land their daughters wealthy husbands? It clearly wasn’t called the Marriage Mart for nothing, and Lord Potter had long been determined to resist matrimony at all costs.

Tonight was different, though. He’d recently met a Miss Hermione Granger at a friend’s family dinner and, Merlin help him, Harry could not remember the last time he’d been so struck by someone.

The shy bookworm apparently never ventured far from her country home, but Ginny Weasley had finally convinced her former finishing school classmate to come to London for a formal presentation into society. Lady Weasley had agreed to sponsor her and the coveted Almack’s vouchers had finally arrived that very day. 

And Harry had promised to dance with her....

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N - as the first sentence indicates, the Harry and Hermione in this story are ancestors of the canon pair. This means Harry’s mother in this story won’t be Lily and Ginny’s brother isn’t Ron.
> 
> I wanted to explore the concept of souls being drawn together again over time, and also offer explanation for how a talented witch like Hermione could be a Muggleborn, with no known Squibs in the family. 
> 
> I also thought that since circumstances and surroundings very much shape our personality and character, it would just be too much of a stretch to write the couple 200 years in the past, each with changed family circumstances, and still have them retain all the canon characteristics - that would just be one major change too many. Not saying it could not be done, but It was not the story I wanted to tell.
> 
> This story is going to be a hopefully unique take on a soulmate bond, and will conclude with canon Harry and Hermione. It will all make sense in the end - I promise!
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	2. Chapter 2

The promise of a beautiful spring day was doing little to improve Lord Potter’s black mood.

”Let it go, Harry,” Lord Edward Weasley advised, as their horses trotted through the nearly deserted paths of Hyde Park. “I never would have gotten up this early if I’d known you were still set on plaguing me about Hermione Granger!”

“But she would barely look at me at the Devons’ musicale last night, Ned. She just murmured something about being pleased to see me in a frosty way that let me know she didn’t mean it at **all** , then turned away and started chatting with your sister.”

Ned frowned. His sister’s guest seemed pleasant enough, but she was aware Harry had been friends with his family since he’d been in leading strings. He knew her feelings had been hurt, as his sister had pointed out numerous times, but a certain decorum was expected of one’s houseguest. “She was rude to you?”  
  
“What? Oh, no - not rude exactly. Just...she wasn’t happy to see me. It was clear. And we’d got on so well!”

“Sort of glossing over the bit where you promised the chit a dance at her Almack’s debut, and then didn’t show up, aren’t you?”

Harry colored angrily. “It wasn’t my fault! And it was THREE DAYS AGO, and I sent a note round the next day, with flowers, I might add!”

”But you didn’t come to call, did you? And it WAS your fault, Harry. Bloody hell, the whole world knows you can’t get into Almack’s after 11. Sally Jersey booted out Wellington himself, and he was only seven minutes late. You arrived, what, twenty minutes past?”

Harry pulled his horse to a halt. “Wellington was wearing TROUSERS. I would have been on time if I hadn’t gone home to put on those wretched knee breeches!”

Ned halted also, meeting Harry’s gaze levelly. “You were late because you insisted we go to White’s for a few hands before we got ready for Almack’s. And when I left to change, you stayed behind to play another game.

“You were late, Harry, because you assumed as you generally do that if you want something badly enough, you will get it.” He spurred his horse forward. “You didn’t bother calling in person the next day for that same reason.”

Harry remained in the same spot, shock written on his handsome face. “What are you saying? That I’m an arrogant prat who always assumes I’ll get my way?”, he finally yelled after his friend’s departing back.

Ned’s laughter drifted back, followed by his reply. “I’m saying, old lad, you may need a new strategy. Fast.”


	3. Chapter 3

“I think I should just go home,” Hermione said quietly.

Ginevra Weasley gazed at her friend helplessly. It had taken her the better part of two years to convince the bosom bow of her finishing school days to visit her for the London Season. It had taken Harry, Lord Potter less than one week to make Hermione want to leave London for good.

“Hermione, please! I had so been looking forward to having you here! Oh, I could _hex_ Harry!” Ginny was on the verge of tears.

“Ginny!” A worried Hermione darted a quick glance toward the door to make sure no one lurked by. She whispered, “You should not say things like that. You risk us all.”

There were very few magicals living among the London _ton_ to Hermione’s knowledge. British history had not been particularly kind to those suspected of witchcraft or wizardry. Magicals tended to have long memories along with long lifespans, and it had been less than 85 years since Janet Sharpe had been burned alive by her community. These days, the only magicals active in London society tended to be those who had married a non-magical with a title, as Ginny’s mother had, and the offspring of those relationships.

Ginny had the grace to blush at her slip. Her parents had lectured her more than once on the need to control her unruly tongue even when she was upset. _“We cannot keep obliviating friends and servants, daughter,” Lady Weasley had cautioned. “Too many memory gaps creates its own kind of suspicion, and that is something we would do best to avoid.”_

Chastened, she nodded now, then stood. “Let’s stroll in the rose garden,” she said, looping her arm through Hermione’s. Hermione gave her a look which plainly said she would humor Ginny about the walk but did not plan to change her mind about the visit. Nonetheless, she allowed herself to be led outside. She did not speak again until they were seated in the gazebo in the small garden’s centre. 

“Well, at least from here, we can easily spot anyone who might approach before that person could hear us. However, your slip just confirms my opinion that nothing good can come of this visit, Ginevra. It would be better for both of us if I just left. We’ll tell your parents at dinner tonight, and…”

“Oh **bosh** , Hermione!” Ginny saw color race to Hermione’s cheeks at the unexpected language, but she didn’t care. Her shy friend always assumed no one would mind whether she was present or absent. It was clearly time for some plain speaking. 

“You’re not leaving because you think your visit will make me violate the Statute of Secrecy. You’re leaving because that wretch Harry hurt your feelings, and made you question your initial impression of him. Do not let him make you run away!”

Sighing, Hermione tried to explain. “He wasn’t trying to hurt my feelings, Ginny. He probably doesn’t even know my feelings were hurt. The fact that they were just underscores why London Polite Society life isn’t for me. Honestly, who gets upset when a man she’s met once doesn’t show up for a dance? It isn’t like he had specifically reserved anything with me. I just knew so few people here, and he seemed so nice, and knowing he was one of us, I just…”

“You just thought he would demonstrate some of the society manners you had every right to expect,” Ginny said softly, reaching out to turn her friend’s face toward her own. “And maybe you hoped for more.”

Ignoring her friend’s reproachful stare, Ginny continued, “I don’t know why Harry didn’t make it to Almack’s on time, Hermione. But…”

Hermione indulged herself in a soft unladylike snort. “No, you don’t know. Nor do I. His note certainly did not provide much information!” 

Privately, she thought the note she’d received the day after her Almack’s visit had been more painful than Harry’s non-appearance. Though accompanied by a beautiful bouquet, the note had been cruelly brief and entirely without apology. _The dragons would not allow me entry after 11. Til next time. HP_

“ _But_ ,” Ginny continued, “I’ve known Harry for most of my life, Hermione. He can be arrogantly self-assured, and I have seen that careless arrogance sometimes make him thoughtless, without question. However, I have never known him to be deliberately cruel, and I assure you he has a good heart. I know he was sincerely taken with you when you met at dinner the night after your arrival. He told Ned – “

Hermione stood. “It doesn’t really matter what he told Ned, Ginny. I’m unlikely to see him again before I head back to The Cotswolds.” She gave her friend a slightly tremulous smile. “You must agree, if I am this easily disappointed with city life, then this country mouse is better off at home. This is most definitely not the end of our friendship, you know. We will continue to write each week, just as we’ve done since school, and Mama and I would love it if you would come visit for a few weeks in the summer.”

Ginny stood also, and caught her friend’s hand before she could turn to leave the gazebo. “He told Ned the day after that dinner he could not remember the last time he had been so struck by someone. He planned to ask you for the supper dance. And Ned said he was devastated when you wouldn’t talk to him at the Devons’ musicale _.”_

 _‘All right, perhaps Ned did not actually use the word ‘devastated’, but doubtless that is what he meant,’_ Ginny told her conscience firmly.

 _‘He was going to reserve the dance that would allow him to take me to supper? He was devastated that I wouldn’t converse with him?’_ For the first time in three long days, Hermione allowed herself to fully recall those warm green eyes and the way she’d felt when he had said he would see her at Almack’s for her debut.

She bit her lip in indecision as Ginny squeezed her hand. “Home will still be there, Hermione, but you came here at least in part to meet Harry…” She shook her head at the quickly voiced protestation. “Yes, you did. And I wanted you to want to meet him, because I think the two of you would be perfect for one another. Why do you think I made him sound so wonderful in all of my letters to you? And he _is_ wonderful, Hermione, in so very many ways, and he’s handsome, and magical, and rich enough to take care of you and any number of children the two of you should care to have.”

Ignoring Hermione’s blushes, Ginny added seriously, ”But he’s not without flaw, and for some reason he was apparently determined that you know this early.”

Hermione was startled into a small laugh. She returned Ginny’s hand squeeze. 

“Perhaps I should give it another week. After all, I haven’t yet seen the Tower of London.”

Ginny smiled with relief. “Then I will ask Ned to accompany us on Tuesday, and if Harry comes round for Tuesday dinner as he often does, we won’t lack for polite conversational topics should you remain certain you do not wish to further the acquaintance. Now, let’s go decide what to wear to Tuesday dinner. We want to ensure that you look devastatingly beautiful while you decide whether to give him another chance!”

Laughing together, they headed for the house.


	4. Chapter 4

Uncharacteristically, Harry sent his regrets for the invitations he’d accepted for Saturday evening and Sunday. He told himself it was because he needed to get caught up on his correspondence and work on his House of Lords speech, but in reality he was afraid he was sulking.

Ned’s words the day before had stung, and he could not quite shake them off. “Wilkins,” he asked his valet abruptly as he got dressed Sunday morning, “Do you think I’m spoiled?’

Wilkins had been with the Potter family since Harry was a child, and had been his father’s valet before him. His eyes met Harry’s in the glass. “A bit, sir.”

Harry found the response did not help his mood. However, he was keenly aware that should he admonish Wilkins for it, it would only settle the question. 

He choked back the reply that had sprung to his lips and instead thrust out his hand for another neckcloth ( _“NOT in an imperious way,’ he told himself)_ having thoroughly spoiled the first. 

Having arranged the new neckcloth to his satisfaction, he turned and steeled himself. “Tell me the truth, Wilkins. Am I an arrogant ass?”

Wilkins regarded him gravely. “Perhaps not an ass, sir.” His master’s face did not change, but sensing that his words perhaps had wounded, Wilkins added gently, “And arrogant … is perhaps not quite the correct word.”

Not surprisingly, Harry found this less than reassuring. “So perhaps I’m not arrogant, and perhaps not an ass. Just a prat then. Right.” He stood.

“Master Harry, no child of your father’s could ever be a prat, as you are very well aware,” Wilkins said firmly. “However, you also are aware that your parents doted on you, that Society has fawned on you, that you are quite wealthy, and that you are regarded as a leader in your social set. It is hardly surprising that you would be used to getting your way. Has this made you a bad person?” He reached forward to remove a speck of lint from Harry’s shoulder, and allowed himself a small smile. “It has not, sir.” Having had the last word, Wilkins left the dressing room, carrying the ruined neckcloth with him.

Turning again to face his reflection in the glass, Harry gave the matter some thought. He had always thought of himself as an easygoing sort of chap. His parents _had_ doted on him – his mother had miscarried twice before Harry was born, and was unable to bear another child after, so they regarded his birth as a bit of a miracle. 

While firmly raising him to be both a gentleman and a good wizard, he knew his parents had found it difficult to say no to him when he truly wanted something. However, he had adored them both and had never been particularly enamored with material things. 

The only tantrum he could recall throwing was over a particularly disreputable dog he had found wandering the grounds and been determined to keep. While properly horrified at the dog’s near skeletal state and open wounds, his parents were initially reluctant to take in a creature almost certainly infested with fleas and who might break young Harry’s heart with an imminent demise that appeared all too likely. They tried to persuade their son that the beast would be suited best for the stable.

Harry, aged 8, was certain he could bring them round with logic. It was obvious to him that the dog needed love and attention, and that he was the lad for the job. When he finally realized they meant to stand by their “No”, his resulting fit had his mother using her magic to remove the flea population and heal some of the more concerning wounds, while his father transfigured a dog bed from a despised mantlepiece ornament, dispatched a servant to the village butcher for scraps and summoned a nourishing broth from the kitchen which the dog lapped up furiously. 

“You can keep him, Harry,” his father said grimly, “but he will be your responsibility. And after he’s eaten, the first order of business will be a bath. Outside and without magic!”

Still sniffling, Harry promptly agreed to all terms. Luncheon was served to the newly anointed Alistair ( _“Alistair, darling?”_ his mother had commented _. “That is … unexpected. Are you quite sure?”_ He was.)from Harry’s own plate, and it was hard to determine who got more thoroughly soaked in the promised bath. The new dog bed was regarded by both with scorn – when his parents looked in on Harry before retiring, Alistair was asleep on the pillow next to Harry’s. 

Reflecting back on the episode now, Harry could not regret it. _‘He was the best dog,’_ he thought, with a twinge of the sadness that had not quite left him in the two years since Alistair had passed away. _‘Worth all of the ruckus.’_

Settling down in his study with the _Times_ , and assuring himself that he would tackle that correspondence just as soon as he’d finished his newspaper, Harry found himself still preoccupied with self-reflection. _Had_ he just assumed the major domo at Almack’s would bow to the Potter charm? Or had he been counting on the fact that he would not?

Even as he had suggested to Ned that they visit White’s before the Almack’s outing, he’d known it was a bad plan. He really had truly enjoyed meeting Hermione – despite Ginny’s forewarning that she was quite shy, he’d found her intelligent and insightful after her initial reluctance in conversation. Within minutes, it seemed as though they had known one another for years, and seeing her visibly relax in his company filled him with unexpected warmth. The thought had come from nowhere: _‘She is lovely.’,_ and when Ginny mentioned Hermione would be making her debut at Almack’s the following evening, he found himself saying he planned to be there as well. Yet all of the following day, he had regarded the Almack’s plan with a kind of dread. 

If he were truly honest with himself, he had to admit he had been relieved enough to be turned away. And though he’d known he owed Hermione the courtesy of a call and an explanation, he’d convinced himself the following day that flowers and a brief note would suffice. 

‘ _Why?,’_ he wondered.

At 24, Harry had no plans to set up his nursery, but with his father gone and his mother content to spend the Spring at their ancestral home in Staffordshire, he was aware he was a bit lonely. Ned and Ginny were his only magical friends, and increasingly Harry felt the drain of continually hiding part of who he was. _‘It’s easier for them,_ he thought, _‘with Lord Weasley not being magical. They’ve always felt anchored in the Muggle world.’_

He was one of the very few _ton_ members raised with two magical parents. Their servants at home were either magical themselves or, like Wilkins, a Squib. Since the death of his father, his mother was seldom in town for the Season, finding herself increasing uninterested in the workings of Polite Society and more interested in the work of her coven. 

Lady Weasley was a member of the same coven – they’d been inducted together as girlhood friends – but as the wife of a Viscount who was actively politically as well as socially, she had long since accepted that her magic would primarily be used only in private. _“Some days the only magic I use is to keep the tea hot,’_ she had once remarked to Harry’s mother in his hearing, _‘but then I reflect ‘Well, Miriam, you do hate cold tea!’”_ Harry’s mother had laughed, but it seemed to Harry she had regarded her friend with something close to pity.

 _“Don’t choose a life where you have to hide who you are, Harry,’_ his mother had advised him later. _“If you want to fall head over ears in love, hold out for a good witch to fall in love with.”_

His parents had been deeply in love – that was evident to all who knew them. While he had no current thoughts of marriage, Harry already knew that when he did marry, he wanted what his parents had had. 

He and Ned had gone off to Hogwarts together at age 11. For Ned, the school had been a revelation – the first time in his life he had been completely surrounded by other magicals other than visits to his maternal grandparents’ village, where Harry was raised. Ned loved Hogwarts immediately.

Harry, on the other hand, was dreadfully homesick in those initial weeks. He told himself it was because Ned and his housemates were poor substitutes for Alistair, but in truth he missed his parents even more than his dog. Christmas break had not come soon enough. 

_“It’s good for us to have this time apart, Harry,”_ his father had told him before sidearm-apparating him back to school in the New Year _. “You’re too isolated at home – it is good for you to be around children of your own age, and to meet other magicals. Who knows,”_ he’d winked. _“Perhaps the witch of your dreams is there.”_

She hadn’t been, as it had turned out, though he had grown to love Hogwarts. The time there had strengthened his ties with Ned and also with Ginny, when she arrived two years later. Harry now missed those days where his magic was a seamless part of his daily life, and he increasingly missed his ancestral home.

“Enough of this,” he said aloud, throwing down his newspaper and stalking back to the master bedroom. Locking the door as a sign to the household staff that he was not to be disturbed, he knelt before the fireplace, placing a Floo call to his mother’s morning room.

“Darling! How splendid!” Margaret Potter’s face lit up at the unexpected sight of her son. Putting down her embroidery, she asked “Would you have time to come through for a cup of tea?”

He had intended only a quick call, but the longing for home and family that filled him at the sight of his mother swiftly changed his mind. He went through, and accepted the cup of tea that Lady Potter poured. After dutifully kissing her cheek, he sank down into a comfortable chair already feeling better than he had all day. 

As he sipped his tea and asked his mother about her week, he was aware she was scrutinizing him closely. “How are you, Harry?”, she asked softly.

His green eyes met her own reluctantly. He had never been sure whether it was her own innate magic or merely the common magic of motherhood, but he had never been able to successfully lie to her.

“Mum, I need you to tell me the truth. Do you think I’m a prat?”

“A prat, my love? I should say not. No son of your father’s could ever be a prat.”

Smiling slightly despite himself as his mother’s words unknowingly echoed Wilkins, Harry put down his teacup and leaned forward. “Ned seems to think so.”

Arching one eyebrow, a trick he couldn’t seem to accomplish even with a wand, his mother smiled at him. “I don’t believe that, dearest. Why don’t you tell me what has happened?”

As he filled his mother in on the events of the past few days, Margaret listened closely. She saw no reason to let her son know she was already aware of his meeting with Hermione Granger. 

Harry knew perfectly well that she and Miriam Weasley had been best friends for more than 40 years. He was not aware, however, that they started most days with a Floo call, a practice Miriam had initiated soon after Margaret had lost Daniel almost five years before. 

Margaret had always scoffed at the idea of soulmates, but losing her spouse had gutted her, though she had tried to keep the depth of her pain from her son. Harry was at University at the time and she knew he was dealing with his own devastating grief. 

Miriam Weasley had seen Margaret through the darkest of those months, and Margaret would never forget it. After her son had returned to school, there had been mornings when she could not force herself out of bed, only to have Miriam come through the Floo and hold her as she sobbed. As time gradually lessened her grief, both women resolved to maintain the new habit of near daily chats, a practice they had not regularly engaged in since girlhood, but found they both now savored.

This meant Margaret was well aware of Ginny’s magical friend Hermione and of Ginny’s belief that Hermione and Harry were meant for each other. It had once been her fondest wish that Harry and Ginny would make a match of it, but the very idea had sent Miriam into peals of laughter. “They wouldn’t suit, dearest,” her friend said bluntly. “They are good friends, but I don’t believe it will never be more.” 

In time, Margaret came to agree with Miriam on that point, but she had held high hopes for the meeting with Hermione. As the years had passed, Margaret had noticed before Harry had that he was happiest at home, like his father before him. Harry had all the makings of a powerful wizard; he just needed the right witch to encourage him to focus on his magical talent, which he would never be able to do in Muggle London.

Listening to Harry now miserably recount his bad behavior, she interrupted him gently. “So you liked her, you made an impulsive commitment to see her again, but then you sabotaged the plan?”

Harry was taken aback. “You think I was late on purpose?”

Reaching for her embroidery hoop again, but keeping a close eye on her son under her lashes, Margaret began to stitch calmly, adding additional runes to what appeared to be an altar cloth. “Why, yes. Don’t you?”

Much struck, but unwilling to admit the point, Harry stood abruptly. “I’m going for a ride.”

“It’s a beautiful morning for it. Enjoy yourself, my love,” Margaret murmured as her son strode from the room. And allowed herself a grin once he’d gone.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: This chapter and the next will focus more on Hermione and her back story. The story will be about 10 chapters.

The gallop and the subsequent luncheon with his mother, where the topic of the Weasley’s house guest had been carefully avoided, had done Harry good. He returned home that afternoon in a better frame of mind. However, he remained aware that, loath though he was to admit it, his mother was possibly right. Perhaps he had not been conscious of the intention, but in retrospect, he rather thought he had been trying to avoid seeing Hermione again so soon.

After dealing with his correspondence, and deciding once again to postpone working on the dratted House of Lords speech, he sat down to a light dinner, then retired to his study to sit before the fire with a bottle of brandy as he pondered the matter further. 

He really had liked the girl, and actually could not remember the last time he had enjoyed anyone so much. So why the dread of meeting her at Almack’s the following evening? And why the relief when the rules had taken the chance of that meeting out of his hands? 

It was true he found the entertainment at Almack’s insipid, but that had not stopped him from showing up to support Ginny when she had made her own debut two years before. It bothered him that he could not understand why he had reacted the way that he had this past week.

Somewhere around midnight, it suddenly occurred to him that perhaps he had been reluctant to have his initial impression of the woman confirmed. There would be no point of getting attached to a witch who would be returning to The Cotswolds in only a few short weeks, would there? It wasn’t as if he were ready to settle down.

Yet even as he felt relief at having solved the puzzle, he was conscious of a sudden anxiety at the thought of not seeing her again.

***

Hermione woke early Monday morning and slipped out to the small rose garden before anyone else was up. Ginny, she knew, was likely to sleep for several more hours. 

The night before, they had attended a dance followed by a late supper at the home of Lord and Lady Westbrook. Hermione had enjoyed the dancing very much, happy that the figures of the various dances did not allow for much private conversation. 

The meal that followed was somewhat less comfortable. The strangers she was seated between were very kind, but she could not help but feel herself a fish out of water as she fought her natural shyness to converse on subjects that mattered to her not at all.

She’d tried to explain it to Ginny after they returned home. “I just cannot relax around so many Muggles, Ginny. I don’t know how you do it.” 

Ginny looked amused. “Well, to start with, Hermione, I tend to think of them as ‘people’ and not Muggles.”

Hermione flushed. “I didn’t mean…” 

Ginny laughed and hugged her friend. “I know you didn’t. You grew up in a magical community, Hermione, and I did not. Both your parents were magicals; my father isn’t. Other than my time at Hogwarts, I’ve never had a day where I was not interacting with people from both worlds, so of course it feels natural to me! Just give it time. You felt similarly uncomfortable when we first met at St. Anne’s as I recall.”

Hermione giggled. “I felt a lot better once I saw you aim that stinging jinx at Bronwyn Wetherby, and realized I was not the only magical at the place. Wasps, indeed! Poor Bronwyn!”

Ginny tossed her head. “Bronwyn was a mean cow. She completely deserved it for making fun of you. And you already knew I was a witch.”

***

_Four Years Previously_

Hermione’s decision to attend St. Anne’s had not been an easy one, but after her father’s unexpected death from dragonpox nearly on eve of her brother John’s marriage to another young witch in their community, she had felt the need to get away from home. Her sister-in-law, Abigail, was the dearest girl and had done nothing to make Hermione feel unwelcome in her childhood home but Hermione was extremely conscious of the changed circumstances. 

The initial plan was for Hermione and her mother to move to the dower house on the family property, but it was soon apparent her mother would not be able to move so quickly – since the death of her husband, she was leaning heavily on John and Abby in her grief. Hermione wanted to escape her own sorrow and allow Abby time to become mistress in her own home. 

Seraphina Dawkins, Hermione’s former governess, had a Squib sister who ran a finishing school in Bath. Hermione had met Agnes Dawkins on several occasions, and saw her again when Agnes came to visit her sister a few months after John’s marriage. It was she who suggested that the change of scenery might be good for Hermione, both to allow her time and distance as she coped with her changed circumstances and to improve her confidence as she neared adulthood. 

Agnes explained that while most of her young ladies knew nothing of the magical world, she did sometimes have other magical students. In fact, she was expecting one in the fall. Knowing another witch would be present made Hermione consider the proposal more seriously than she might have done otherwise. 

Hearing that Agnes had a Floo installed in her private sitting room for her sister’s visits, and that Hermione would be welcome to travel that way rather than by carriage as long as she arrived a day or two before the other students, cinched the plan. With as much relief as fear, Hermione tearfully embraced her family at the end of August and left for St. Anne’s.

***

Ginny Weasley had left Hogwarts at the end of her fifth year. With Ned and Harry graduating, she decided she would prefer to finish her education at a private Muggle finishing school before she took her place in Society, an idea both of her parents encouraged. Her mother knew of Agnes Dawkins’s school from a friend, and Agnes advised there would be another young witch in attendance with the new term as well.

Unfortunately, Ginny contracted a late summer cold that settled into her chest, which meant she arrived at St. Anne’s several days after the other students. When her father’s carriage dropped her off, Agnes Dawkins introduced Ginny to the other young ladies and explained she would be rooming with Hermione Granger. After greeting everyone, she’d headed upstairs to unpack her trunk. 

When Ginny returned downstairs, it was to see the slightly bovine Bronwyn taunting Hermione, who was curled in a corner chair with a book and looked to be on the verge of tears. Ginny _hated_ cruelty - the stinging jinx was on its way across the room before she had time to realize she’d drawn her wand. She hid it again at the sound of Bronwyn’s yelp, saying smoothly, “Oh, did that wasp sting you? How unfortunate.” 

Seeing that Ginny’s face registered nothing but polite concern filled Hermione with awe. As she saw Ginny’s almost imperceptible wink when a teary Bronwyn left to seek a poultice from Cook, she gaped. As the two young witches stayed up late talking after dinner, giggles overcame both girls and a firm friendship was born.

Hermione soon learned Ginny did not have a shy bone in her body – she made friends with the other girls easily. She swiftly made it clear to the others that her loyalty to Hermione was absolute, and before long Hermione had a friendly relationship with most of the other students. Despite her sadness over her father’s death, and her worry that she would somehow reveal she was magical since she had never before had to hide it, the time at St. Anne’s was good for her. 

She helped her mother move into the dower house at the end of her first year, and helped John and Abby welcome the birth of her nephew Alexander at the next Christmas break. By the end of her second year, she was anxious to return home but already knew she would miss Ginny terribly. Ginny felt the same, and the two girls – deliberately the last to leave the school so that they could travel by Floo – clung to one another. 

“You’ll have to visit me in London, Hermione,” a weeping Ginny said. “My parents will love you, and I want you to meet Ned and Harry.” Hermione had heard all about both boys during their time at school, and confessed to being curious.

“Maybe someday, Ginny,” Hermione had answered. “For now, I just want to be home so I can play with Alex every day. But we will write, won’t we?” 

And they _had_ written regularly, with Ginny sharing society news and stories about Ned and Harry that made Hermione long to know them. Her own letters relayed anecdotes of her part-time potions work in the local apothecary’s shop, her nephew’s rapid growth and all the village gossip. Later, after she’d fallen in love, her letters provided page after page of information about the man she loved and the life they were planning, while Ginny's were filled with her own longing for love.

Hermione was happier than she had been in years. Although she remained curious about Ginny’s brother and his friend and she still missed Ginny tremendously, she felt no desire to leave her village. 

Two years later after the friends had parted, tragedy struck and changed her mind. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Reviews are appreciated.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N This chapter finishes Hermione’s backstory, and concludes with a brief scene between Harry and Ned.

_Seven months ago_

Shortly after it was confirmed that his son was a squib, Hermione’s brother John had decided to deal with his grief through a bruising ride cross-country. He was a superb rider - at home in the saddle almost since birth. They never knew exactly what happened, but somehow his horse threw him. He never had time to even mutter a cushioning charm – his neck snapped when he hit a tree. He was killed instantly.

Hermione’s mother moved back into the main house to take care of Abby and Alex. Knowing that her mother needed to stay busy, Hermione remained in the dower house alone. She could barely stand to visit her childhood home, overwhelmed by memories of living there with the father and the brother she had lost. 

_“Come for that visit, Hermione,_ Ginny’s reply had urged after she’d poured out her grief in a long letter to her friend. _“You can stay for a few weeks or a few months, if you’d like. London has plenty of distractions, and I would love to see you. It has been too long, my friend.”_

_***_

_Less than a month ago_

“You should go, Hermione,” Abby offered on one of their walks. Hermione’s mother had taken over the task of getting young Alex down for his mid-day nap, which gave Abby an opportunity to have some time to herself each day. Most days, she spent that time with Hermione. Together they would walk sometimes for miles, often through the wood that surrounded the family property, in unspoken agreement seeking the end of day exhaustion which would ease sleep. “It would do you good.”

Darting a quick glance at her sister-in-law, Hermione bit her lip. The desire to escape was strong, but leaving seemed selfish. “You won’t get out of walking with me that easily, Abigail,” she gently teased.

Abby stopped and drew Hermione over to a downed log to sit. Blue eyes met brown with a firm expression. “You and I are both going to miss John, Hermione, whether we are together or apart.” Tears filled Hermione’s eyes at the thought of her adored big brother. Abby squeezed her hand. “But wouldn’t you rather be someplace where you will not run into William?”

Shocked, Hermione stared at Abigail. Abby smiled slightly, though her own eyes were also tear-filled. “Hermione, did you think I didn’t know?”

...

Shortly after Hermione’s graduation, she had renewed her acquaintance with the Ravencroft family, who owned the bookshop in their magical village near the River Coln. The eldest son, William, was in training to take over the business from his parents. He and Hermione had attended the village school together in their younger years. However, her natural shyness had meant Hermione had never socialized much with the other children – she’d preferred to spend much of her free time as a child reading, or roaming the wood on their property, with her brother providing companionship when she’d wanted it. Consequently, she and William – one year older than she and one year younger than John - had never known one another well. 

They were both smitten at first sight when Hermione walked into the bookshop after graduating from St. Anne’s. “ _Circe, she’s so beautiful!’_ he thought. _‘Merlin, when did William become so handsome?’_ Hermione mused. 

As they conversed, they found many things in common - both loved books and learning and their small town. It had always seemed to Hermione that most of the wizards her age were sports mad or powerfully ambitious. So many moved away not long after completing school. 

William had no such goals. “It’s always been my dream to run this bookshop,” he told Hermione, a few months after they became reacquainted. _‘It’s always been my dream to fall in love with someone who owns a bookshop,’_ Hermione thought happily.

They’d seemed perfectly suited, and everyone – including the two of them – had assumed they would wed. While there was no formal engagement, they had discussed marrying once William’s father officially retired. Their plan was to become formally betrothed in the Spring, and then marry the following Winter. Then Hermione had confided her fears about young Alex.

“I’m just so worried, William. Usually by this age, a child has had several bursts of accidental magic. John and Abby have been reluctant to have him tested, mostly out of fear, I think. They’re calling in the Medi-Wizard next week though.”

William’s face had paled. “You believe he’s a Squib? Have there been Squibs in your family?”

Focused on her own concerns, Hermione did not immediately notice William’s anxiety. “Just my maternal uncle, as far as I know, and I believe a great-great-grandparent. But it is uncommon for us.”

“Does Abby have Squibs in her family?” he’d asked, in such a careful tone that Hermione’s attention was caught. Her eyes flew to his face. 

“No, I don’t believe so,” she answered, a cold knot forming in her stomach.

No one knew why some children were born Squibs. However, in a magical village, Squibdom was feared perhaps more than crib death. Hermione knew some believed it was a genetic failing, but it had never occurred to her that William might be one of those people.

Belatedly, Hermione realized William was no longer holding her hand. “We’ll hope for the best then,” he said, calmly enough. But looking at the pallor of his face, Hermione felt the knot in her stomach start to grow.

A week later, the Medi-Wizard confirmed the diagnosis and John took off on his horse. William went with Hermione and her family to the funeral afterward, and held her as she soaked his robe with tears. However, the cold knot did not dissolve - she could feel his distance even as he held her close. 

It didn’t really come as much of a surprise when he told her a few weeks later he thought it best if they ended the romance. “I love you, Hermione,” he’d said, not making eye contact with her, “but I want a family. And I don’t believe I could bear it if I had a child who was a Squib. There has never been a Ravencroft Squib.”

They had talked for another two hours, but his mind was made up. Hermione wept herself to sleep that night and many nights after. However, she’d never mentioned the break-up to her family and had believed them too grief-stricken from John’s loss and Alex’s diagnosis to notice William’s absence. Hermione had kept her own new source of grief to herself, but the weight of her woes felt like it was crushing her. Increasingly, she longed to flee.

“You knew?” she whispered now.

Abby ran her hand over Hermione’s hair. “Not immediately. But Mrs. Ravencroft felt compelled to justify William’s decision to your mother when they ran into one another at the market a few weeks ago.”

Hermione’s eyes narrowed. “She did _what?_ That **crone**!”

Shaking her head sadly, Abby said, “No, she isn’t, Hermione. It’s a perfectly natural reaction.” As her sister-in-law drew breath to launch into furious protest, Abby shushed her. “It is, and you know it. But that does not make this any less dreadful for you, and I am so sorry. I am sorry that it happened, a-and I’m sorry for my s-son’s role in it, and I’m sorry I’ve been so l-lost in my own grief that I haven’t even t-talked to you about it before now….” Both women were openly weeping at this point.

Clinging to one another, they cried together. Finally, Hermione calmed enough to say, “This is **not** Alex’s fault, Abby, and I will hex you if you say again that it is.” 

She leaned back and drew a shuddering breath, as she conjured hankies for both of them to wipe their faces. “That’s why I didn’t tell you. I did not want you to think that.” 

Abby took Hermione’s hand. “I have been thinking about moving.”

Shocked anew, Hermione stared at her sister-in-law, as Abby continued. “I have to think about what is best for Alex. He’s going to need friends, and later a job and someone to marry.” She gazed at Hermione, grief and determination etched in her face. “He won’t have those things here.”

Hermione could barely speak past the lump in her throat. “B-but your parents, and my mother…”

Abby clutched her hand tighter. “We would always return for visits to see you, and to see my family, and I hope you would visit us.” She looked down, and added in a lower voice, “Your mother is considering coming with us.”

She was glad she was seated and that Abby was clutching her hand, because Hermione felt as if the world was spinning around her. She could but gaze at Abby mutely.

Abby’s hand lifted to cup Hermione’s cheek. “Nothing is settled yet, Hermione. John has only been dead for six months, and Alex has just turned three. If I am going to move, it would be best to do it within the next year or so, but ….”

Hermione found her voice, interrupting. “Where?”

“Not far, actually. I am thinking of Bibury.” Bibury was a Muggle village just twenty miles south of them. “I thought I could perhaps open a small shop, making bonnets and hats. The Muggles don’t have to know everything that goes on the back room, after all.” She hesitated. “If your mother comes too, she could watch Alex during the day until he starts school.”

Hermione had the sinking feeling that despite Abby’s assurances, this plan was much more developed than a mere idea.

“W-would you sell the house?”

“Would I leave you homeless, sister?” Abby shook her head. “No, Hermione. The house would be yours to use as long as you lived here.” Abby sighed and looked around her at the peaceful wood. “We might need to think of selling some of the property at some point. John left us some money, though, so perhaps we could avoid that.”

Hermione felt her heart seize. How was this happening? 

Abby shook her head, as she rose to her feet. “Nothing is settled yet, Hermione,” she said softly. “But I have to think of Alex.”

They walked on without conversing. Hermione found herself glancing at the ground more than once just to assure herself it was not spinning beneath her feet. Her family might move away? She would be alone? 

Yet even as she considered it, she could not even begin to imagine moving to Bilbury and committing to living her life among Muggles. She thought of her magic as a living thing inside her – if she didn’t use it, would it wither and die? Then she stumbled slightly as an even more horrid thought occurred: if she remained, would she one day have to watch William marry another witch? 

Almost as if she could hear Hermione’s thoughts, Abby spoke gently. “But it might be nice not to see William for a while? If you were to visit Ginny, I mean?”

Hermione thought of the past weeks when she had so assiduously avoided the bookshop, and the past months where she had spent as little time as possible in her childhood home to avoid the other memories there. She stopped walking and faced her sister-in-law.

“It might. I’ll write Ginny today.” 

Two weeks later, she had headed to London.

***

May 1814

Harry exited Manton’s with Ned Weasley Monday afternoon in a much better frame of mind. Something about demonstrating his shooting skill had greatly improved his mood. Ned, on the other hand, was not as pleased.

“Don’t worry, my friend,” Harry teased _sotto voce_. “Should we ever need to duel, we can make it with wands, not pistols.”

“You’d probably beat me even faster that way,” Ned said glumly, then brightened. “Perhaps tomorrow we can go to Jackson’s? I could get a bit of my own back there.”

“I think not. I’ve no interest in getting into the ring with you. You have three inches and at least a stone on me.” He quirked a smile. “You wouldn’t want to risk damaging this handsome face, would you?”

“I’m trying to help you, old lad,” Ned said. “If you come to dinner tomorrow with a few bruises on that pretty mug of yours, perhaps you would rate a little sympathy from the ladies. You may need it.”

Harry winced. “D’you think it will be icy silence otherwise?”

Ned tutted. “Certainly not. My mother, my sister and our guest all have impeccable manners. No icy silence for you. Just excruciatingly polite conversation, probably populated with a great many ‘Lord Potters’.” He raised his voice to a falsetto, “Oh, Lord Potter, we are so _pleased_ you found the time to visit our humble home for dinner this evening. We know how _busy_ you are, Lord Potter, and are _completely_ humbled by your lordly notice.”

Harry stared at his friend. “You ARE joking, aren’t you? Your mother and Ginny have known me all of my life. They wouldn’t talk to me like that, would they?”

Ned grinned. “We’ll find out at dinner tomorrow.” Suddenly serious, he stopped walking and met Harry’s eyes squarely. “And Harry, do not even think of canceling.”

A bit pale, Harry nodded curtly. They walked on.

_Next week: Harry and Hermione meet again._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Reviews are appreciated.


	7. Chapter 7

The planned trip to the Tower of London had to be postponed when the Weasley household awakened Tuesday morning to a torrential downpour.

“Well, _that_ shows no signs of abating any time soon! I’m sorry, Hermione,” Ginny said at breakfast. “I know you are disappointed. But we can go tomorrow!”

Ned shook his head. “I hate to disappoint you, ladies but I have other plans the next few days. Perhaps later in the week. I am sorry, Hermione.”

“Do not think a thing of it,” Hermione insisted. “It is a perfect morning to stay in. I have some letters to write and then look forward to curling up in your library after selecting another book. I am just grateful for shelter on such a day.” A sudden boom of thunder punctuated her comments.

“I think we are all in agreement there!” Ned agreed. 

“Do you think we will still see Harry for dinner this evening, Ned?” Ginny asked, ignoring the sharp glance Hermione sent her way.

“I do, yes. In fact, I’m sure of it,” Ned responded.

Lady Weasley smiled at her eldest. “Goodness, I can scarcely believe it has been a full week since we’ve seen him last. Typically during the Season Harry’s here almost as much as you are, dearest.”

Familiar with that particular smile, Ned exchanged glances with his father. “Don’t worry, Ned,” Lord Weasley said with a chuckle. “I’m almost certain the evening will end without Harry sustaining grievous bodily harm.” Winking at Hermione, he continued. “Unless, of course, Miss Granger thinks he would be better served if reduced to potions parts?”

Hermione turned scarlet. “Oh no, I-I…,” she stammered, to general laughter from the others.

“Ignore my family, Hermione,” Ginny said, rising gracefully and causing the men to also stand. “I too have some correspondence to write. Shall I meet you in the morning room in a few minutes?”

Hermione stood hastily. “Yes, thank you,” she said, and fled. 

***

Harry stared at the thunderstorm outside the breakfast room windows. So much for the planned morning ride. _‘There’s always that House of Lords speech you’ve been avoiding,’_ his conscience prodded. He sighed as he rose. Unfortunately, he still didn’t feel much like writing it.

Glancing again at the pouring rain, he realized it was the perfect day to stay inside with a good book and a pot of hot tea. Mentally consigning his speech to perdition, he headed for his study. Maybe if the book was gripping enough, he wouldn’t worry about the evening to come.

***

Hermione sighed as she continued the letter to her sister-in-law. _‘It is so different here, Abby. There is no chance of Ginny and I roaming around the city as we could at home. Our plan to visit the Tower must be postponed until a gentleman can accompany us. It seems so silly, given that our magic allows us to protect ourselves much better than most men ever could.”_

She missed her family. Lady Weasley had allowed her to use the fireplace in her bedroom a couple of times for Floo calls, but the timing never seemed to be quite right to talk to Abby for more than a few minutes. _‘Such is life with a toddler, I suppose,’_ Hermione thought. During one such call, Alex had interrupted so many times that they had given up. During another, it was close to his nap time and he was too cranky to allow his mother much space. 

The best time for Abby to talk was just before her own bedtime or during her son’s nap. Unfortunately, the only fireplace in the Weasley household with Floo access was in Lady Weasley’s bedroom, and thus not often available late. Alex’s naptime seemed to always occur when the Weasleys were entertaining guests or making calls. _‘And of course the chances of getting a three year old to sit still in front of the fire long enough for me to talk to HIM are non-existent,’_ she thought fondly. She _had_ been able to have a couple of conversations with her mother, and was glad to hear that she was getting out a bit more and generally seemed a bit happier. She feared though that this was due to the moving plan that doubtless was progressing in her absence.

 _‘It has been nearly a month since you mentioned the possibility of moving, Abby. You haven’t said so, but I suspect your mind is made up. As much as I hate to say it, sister,’_ she stared into space for a moment, then firmly put quill to paper, _‘after giving the matter much thought, I must agree this is something you need to do. You are quite right to think Alex could not be happy long term in Wittbury. He needs to grow up around other non-magical children who will recognize and appreciate his intelligence and his humor and his mischievous streak, who will challenge him and who he can challenge in turn.’_

She drew a deep breath, and continued. _‘I know you are not thinking of this now, but in time, it is my hope – as it would be John’s – that you would marry again and have more children. If any of them are magical, it would make sense for them to inherit The Grange. In the interim, since it is my intention to remain in the dower house, perhaps you should think of renting the main house. Candidly, I cannot bear the thought of living there again, but it is a wonderful house and deserves to be filled with a loving family, even if that family is not ours. And renting it out for a few years would allow you to avoid having to sell any of the land.’_

Hermione wiped a tear, but kept writing. _‘I know your brother Sebastian is getting married in the fall. Perhaps he and his wife would be interested?’_

“Why can’t I plan for myself as well as I can plan for others?” she muttered to herself.

“Sorry?” Ginny looked over from her own letter. “Hermione, are you crying?”

“No,” Hermione said, wiping the final stray tear. “I’m just telling Abby that I agree she and my mother need to move to Bibury.” At Ginny’s surprised expression, she sighed. “It’s the right thing to do, but that doesn’t make it any easier.” 

As Ginny started to stand, Hermione threw up a hand. “DO NOT come over here and hug me, Ginevra, or there really will be tears.”

Nodding understandingly, Ginny returned to her letter. Frowning slightly in concentration, Hermione picked up her own quill again. 

_‘In other news,’_ she wrote, _‘I will see Lord Potter again at dinner tonight. My stomach is in knots at the thought, but despite that, I wish it were already dinner time, just so I can get it behind me. Hopefully, it will prove to be one of those instances where I’ve worked myself up over nothing, but I do hate awkwardness and I very much fear it is going to be awkward._

_‘I’ve had a hard time envisioning my future now that I know I’m not going to be William’s wife, and can see now that perhaps I was too ready to believe that I could come to London and have Ned or Harry fall in love with me. I’ve heard so much about them over the years that I confess I felt myself half in love with them already and somehow in my head I perhaps assumed the same of them. Who knew that I had such an ego?_

_‘I will say that the reality does not conflict with my imaginings of them. Both are handsome, both are charming, both are wizards – and that last one is desperately important to me. If there is one thing that my limited time in the London social scene has proven, it is that I do not believe I could live around Muggles all the time._

_‘Being constantly on my guard at St. Anne’s was one thing, but there are so very many people here, Abby. Everyone I’ve met has been very kind, but I know they must believe I am very painfully shy. I can be bashful, as you know, but honestly it is just difficult to trust myself to speak too freely here from fear that I will say something I shouldn’t._

_‘Ginny makes living in both worlds look effortless, and she believes that with time it would be for me as well, but I am just not sure I want to do that. I was sitting in the library after dinner last night, and when I finished the book I was reading, I summoned another from the shelves that looked interesting without even thinking about it. Then, of course, I had to look about to determine whether any servants were in the room. Thankfully, there were none, but it was a near thing – just moments later, one of the maids came in to see if I needed anything. After that, I was too nervous to read, and just took myself off to bed._

_‘This letter is all over the place, is it not? Much like the inside of my head these days, I’m afraid. Getting the jumbled thoughts down on the page to you though, Abby, forces me to analyze them and that really does help. Going back to the possible romantic prospects, about which you were so excited, I don’t know that I can ever think of Ned as other than a brother – I have viewed him through Ginny’s eyes for too long, I fear, for that to change. And I suspect it is the same with him for me._

_‘As for Harry, as I confided after meeting him last week, I must admit he initially exceeded every expectation. Even with William, I don’t know that I have ever felt as immediately comfortable with anyone. He seemed genuinely interested in anything I had to say, and it made me smile with happiness to see how warmly he is regarded by Ginny and her family and how they tease one another. And yes, sister, he is handsome. Lady Weasley states he gets his black hair and green eyes from his mother, his height and tanned skin from his father, and his intelligence from both._

_‘And I know it was not my imagination – he seemed to genuinely like me as well. It sounds absurd, but honestly it felt almost as if our magic sparked in recognition of one another. Not a literal spark, of course, but there was a surge which somehow felt instinctive …which apparently I cannot quite explain with words you could make any sense of. But when he said that he would see me again the next evening, I felt – well, it doesn’t matter. You know how that turned out. _

_‘It could be for the best. I know Lord Weasley is sponsoring him in the House of Lords. Lord W, as you know, is very powerful politically and this is a tremendous opportunity for Harry. His wife, should he marry, will probably have a life very similar to Lady Weasley’s – hosting and attending political dinners and keeping up with a very busy social life during the Season. Lady Weasley is happy, I know, but candidly I can imagine little that sounds less appealing to me._

_‘This letter seems already to be longer than most books, so I will close it now. You will just have to wait for the next one to find out how it goes tonight. I confess to some curiosity on the subject myself. And remember, you are NOT discussing any of this with my mother!_

_‘Kiss Alex and mother for me, and know that I send my dearest love to you all.’_

She signed the letter, and cast a swift silent spell to dry the ink. This was followed by a charm that would have the letter appear to anyone other than Abby to be but a series of soup recipes. She looked over at Ginny and found her rising from her desk. 

“Oh, good. You’re done as well?” Ginny said. “Let’s take your letters to Sarah.” Lady Weasley’s personal maid had been with her for many years, and she would use the Floo in her ladyship’s bedroom to drop Hermione’s letters at the local owlery for delivery to Wittbury.

As they walked past the windows, Hermione was pleasantly surprised to see the rain had stopped and it appeared the sun was struggling to put in an appearance. “Perhaps after luncheon we can go for a walk in the park?” she suggested to Ginny. “It looks like it might be a beautiful day after all. I can always read once we get back.”

***

Harry’s book did prove gripping. His mother had passed on her copy of _Sense and Sensibility_ , the novel published by an anonymous Lady the year before. The morning passed swiftly as he scowled at Fanny Dashwood’s greed and sneered at the lack of spine demonstrated by her husband Henry. He was appalled at the lack of commonsense Marianne displayed in falling for Mr. Willoughby ( _‘An obvious bounder!’_ ), and engaged by the selflessness of both Elinor Dashwood and her love interest. 

His staff, well used to how their master could be when he was absorbed by a book, delivered a plate of sandwiches and biscuits to the study with a fresh pot of tea rather than calling him to luncheon, and he ate absent-mindedly as he read. 

He was jarred away from his book by the delivery of a note shortly after 1 pm, inviting him to Lord Derian Clarkson’s for a round of billiards with the promise of another couple of University friends also in attendance. Glancing outside, Harry was surprised to see that the day was now sunny. A glance at the mantelpiece indicated that he had been reading without interruption for hours, and he stared with some astonishment at a plate beside him, empty of all but crumbs. 

“You’ll just have to wait until I can get back to you at bedtime,” he told his book. “Don’t you give up on Edward, Elinor!”

Instructing his footman to summon a hackney, he stretched to remove his stiffness. An afternoon with friends before dinner at the Weasleys sounded pleasant and Clarkson’s town home was not far from theirs. 

As he headed toward the door, he hesitated. There’d be no point in coming back here, and he feared for his very existence should he be late again due to a need to change clothes. After consideration, he ran upstairs to ask Wilkins to have an appropriate change of clothing sent over to the Weasleys’ – he would make sure to be there in time to change before dinner.

***

Ned had also been invited to Lord Clarkson’s for billiards. He was glad he’d gone when he saw Harry already there. Seeing Ned’s eyes narrow, Harry threw up a staying hand. 

“I’ve already sent round my dinner clothes to your parents’ home. Now that you’re here, you can be in charge of getting us both back to your house in plenty of time.” 

Appeased, Ned grinned as he shook hands with Clarkson and Dempforth. “If we’re playing in teams, I call Potter.” Having seen the pair in action at University, Clarkson and Dempforth immediately called foul but a coin toss decided the matter in Ned’s favor.

Three hours later, somewhat wealthier than when they’d arrived, Ned and Harry headed out in order to change for dinner.

***

“You look beautiful, Hermione,” Ginny exclaimed when they’d finished dressing. “Oh, I _knew_ that colour would be perfect for you!”

Staring at her reflection in the cheval mirror, Hermione could see that her friend had indeed been right about the soft green color and also about the style of the gown. Its Empire waist accentuated her shapely figure without revealing too much, and the silky fabric fell in flattering folds to skim her kid slippers. 

She had refused any elaborate hairstyling. However, the simple up-do fashioned by Ginny’s maid was very becoming, accentuating her cheekbones and making her chocolate eyes look enormous, while leaving a few curls framing her face. 

Though she was pleased with her overall appearance, long experience with her hair had her muttering a charm to secure it. When Ginny raised an eyebrow, she reminded her friend that she’d lost more hairpins during their time at St. Anne’s than she’d ever succeeded in keeping on her head. 

Ginny laughed and hugged her. “You are going to make Harry Potter forget his own _name_ , my friend!” While Hermione shook her head with a laugh, she was female enough to secretly hope it would be so. 

She may have decided that she could never be content as Lady Potter, and accepted that Lord Potter was not seeking for her to fill the position, but that did not mean she did not want him to admire her.

***

The sound of voices from the drawing room confirmed Harry’s suspicion that the rest of the family had already assembled as he and Ned descended the stairs. “How ridiculous is it to be this nervous?” he muttered to Ned, who sent him a sardonic look. “Not ridiculous at all, my lad,” said Ned, clapping him on the shoulder. “Let’s find out if you are on the menu.” 

Ned strode ahead as they crossed the foyer, which gave Harry time to wistfully glance at the front door. Reminding himself that only the brave sorted into Gryffindor, he followed his friend into the drawing room in time to hear Ned announce, “Hello, all. Harry’s here!”

Having said so, Ned promptly accepted a drink from their butler and retired to lean against the fireplace where he could observe the festivities while ensuring Harry had a clear view of his amused expression.

Refusing to let his eyes roam the room, Harry let the manners drilled into him over a lifetime take over. He shook Lord Weasley’s hand and bowed over Lady Weasley’s, thanking them for their hospitality and complimenting Lady Weasley on her appearance. 

Lady Weasley chuckled as she kissed his cheek. “Don’t be absurd, Harry. We’ve known you since you were in short coats! And here you are standing on ceremony!” He just had enough time to wonder if there was a mocking glint in her eye when she slid her arm through his and turned him to face the others behind her. “Perhaps I should I ask if you remember our daughter Ginny and her friend Hermione?”

He would _not_ look at Ned, damn him, but wished he’d thought to cast a glamour to stop the red flush he knew was rising up his face. Seeing Ginny smoothly raise one eyebrow ( _‘Did EVERY woman have that talent?’ he wondered)_ in his direction while her friend steadily regarded him, he forgot every word of the speech he’d so carefully prepared and spoke from the heart.

“Ladies, it is good to see you. And I would like to apologize to both of you – to all of you! – but especially to you, Miss Granger, for the events of last week.” Dear Lord, was he _sweating?_

“Thank you, Harry,” Ginny said, giving him a measuring look. “Mother, might I have a word with you and Father before we go into dinner?” she added, walking past him to lead her parents into a far corner of the room. 

Harry shot a quick look at Ned, but it was clear he’d get no help there. _‘Once more unto the breach, dear friends…’_ Reminding himself again that the Sorting Hat had been convinced he was a Gryffindor, he focused on Hermione, really seeing her for the first time since he’d entered the room. And was immediately glad he’d not truly looked at her earlier, because he promptly forgot how to speak.

Somehow the past week had blurred her features in his memory. He remembered thinking her attractive, and enjoying their conversation, but the woman before him now took his breath away. 

Her dark hair was swept up, with a few tendrils framing her face. Her dark eyes were enormous, and fixed on him with such a serious expression in them that if he could have strung words together, he’d have started his apology all over again. Her gown, without being revealing in any detail, highlighted her very feminine figure and her _face … ‘Good God, she is GLORIOUS,’_ he thought. 

Hermione knew she should speak, but she was not sure what to say. His apology seemed sincere in tone, and he even seemed to be perspiring a bit, she noticed. _‘Does the wizard know no cooling charms?’_ she thought with some amusement. However, his words had been general, and she was not really certain whether he was actually sorry for his actions or just was sorry for the fact that he’d annoyed the Weasleys, who he clearly regarded as family. _‘And I still want to know WHAT HAPPENED.’_

Unconsciously biting her lip and with her brow furrowed slightly in thought, she raised her eyes to study his green ones. And as he met her gaze, she once again felt her magic spark toward his.

The arrested look on his face made it clear he’d felt it too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Reviews are appreciated!


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When last seen, Harry had apologized and Hermione was trying to figure out what to say in response, but then they felt that weird surge again….

Hermione could feel the heat rushing to her face, and hastily looked down. “Thank you, Lord Potter. I accept your apology. Now, if you’ll excuse me…” She hurried across the room, joining Ginny and her parents.

Harry stared after her. _‘What was THAT?’_

Ginny whispered to Hermione, “Well? Did he expound on his apology after I left you alone?” Hermione was prevented from responding by the butler’s announcement that dinner was served. She just had time to shake her head slightly, before Ned crossed the room and offered his arm to escort her in, following his parents. 

Ginny accepted Harry’s arm in turn, but her brows were drawn together. “I left you alone so you could apologize properly, you twit!” she hissed.

“I **tried**! She went racing across the room!” Harry hissed back. Although, on reflection, he could not recall if he _had_ actually tried. Had he said anything after Ginny had left them alone? He could only remember that odd surge of magic when their eyes had met. Had that happened last time? 

Thankfully, he was seated next to Ginny at dinner, with Lady Weasley to his left at the foot of the table and an obviously curious Ned across from him. Hermione was seated to Ned’s left, with Lord Weasley at the table’s head. 

At intimate family dinners such as this, the formalities were not observed – conversation could flow freely around and even across the table, as opposed to being limited to only the guests seated at either hand. Harry found himself glancing at Hermione as the dishes were passed, and noticed she seemed determined not to look in his direction. 

“So, you seem to have made quite the impression on old Clarkson, Ginny,” Ned said. “He must have asked me three times this afternoon how you were.”

Ginny raised her chin. “Lord Clarkson is very charming, Edward, despite being a friend of yours,” she said, smiling a bit maliciously as Harry’s head snapped her way. “I enjoyed dancing with him at Lady Everly’s ball last Saturday. I believe you did as well, Hermione?”

Hermione looked over from her conversation with Lord Weasley. “He was the blonde handsome gentleman? Yes, I found him quite charming, and he’s a very good dancer.” 

Harry was suddenly quite viciously glad he hadn’t let Clarkson win a game that afternoon. “As Ned said though, it seems he only has eyes for our Ginny.” 

That comment brought a stifled snort from Ned’s direction and a swift kick under the table from Ginny’s. He felt himself redden as Hermione’s brows went up and she met his eyes squarely, with no spark this time but more than a hint of frost.

 _‘Good God, what is wrong with me?’_ Trying to save the situation, he smiled at Hermione and said, “Though Clarkson was never known for his intellect.” General laughter swept the table at Ginny’s mock double-take indignation.

“All right, children,” Lord Weasley said. “Company manners, if you please. Harry, how is your speech coming? Do you think you’ll be ready to present it at next week’s session?”

Aware of Lady Weasley’s keen eye to his left, Harry smiled blandly and responded. “Frankly, sir, it needs a good bit more work. Speaking of politics, though, I was interested to read this week that with Bonaparte’s capture, the government is considering canceling some of its contracts for manufactured goods. What do you think that will do to pricing?”

“It will send them plummeting, and that’s what I keep trying to tell them!” Lord Weasley said irately, before catching sight of his wife’s raised brow. “But that’s a conversation for another time.”

As the conversation became more general, Hermione studied Harry under her lashes while appearing to focus on her meal. She was furious with herself for being so flustered by her earlier reaction to him that she had accepted his apology without further discussion. She still wanted more information about the Almack’s incident, and longed to know whether he was truly remorseful at causing her pain. Unfortunately, her expressed forgiveness left no polite means of reopening the subject, even should they be left alone again.

Ned had resumed teasing his sister about Lord Clarkson’s interest. “Derian even suggested I get up a group to visit Richmond Park. You may thank me though, for I told him you had been there multiple times and would have no interest in seeing it again.”

Hermione’s gaze flew to Ginny in time to see color rise in her friend’s cheeks. Ginny’s body language did not betray her though, as she merely raised an eyebrow at her brother and said calmly, “But I adore Richmond Park Ned, and Hermione has never seen it. We must go while she is here, and it would be unforgivably rude to plan such an excursion without Lord Clarkson, after he was so kind as to suggest it.”

Ned could hardly argue with this. His grimace showed he was aware of that. “Harry, old lad, do you fancy a trip to Richmond Park with the ladies and Clarkson?”

“You’ll need a sixth as well, dearest,” Miriam said mildly, “since it would be ill-mannered of you not to attend an outing you arranged.” 

As Ned opened his mouth to argue, his father spoke firmly. “And of course your mother and I will be counting on you to watch over your sister and her guest.”

Eyes sparkling, Ginny exchanged glances with Hermione. “I don’t believe Sophie Edgecombe has been to Richmond Park. We should ask her when we go to call tomorrow morning.” Miss Edgecombe and her mother had called on them the day before and a return call was required.

“You know,” Harry interjected, “I never actually said I would go.” He grinned at the sudden silence. “I _will_ go, mind you, but a fellow doesn’t like to always be taken for granted.” Laughter descended on the group once more.

***

After leaving the men to their port, Lady Weasley picked up her embroidery and asked Hermione if she would mind playing something on the pianoforte. Knowing how much her hostess loved music, Hermione readily consented and was still playing when the gentlemen rejoined them. Her eyes flew open when Harry’s soft baritone startled her. 

“I was going to offer to turn the pages, but I see you’re not even looking at them.”

Hermione fought the urge to blush. “It is an odd talent that I have. After playing a piece while reading the music a few times, my fingers will hold the memory – sometimes for years. It allows me to close my eyes and immerse myself in the sound.”

He briefly considered asking to sit beside her on the bench, but uncertainty regarding her response made him reach instead for a side chair beside a small table behind him and draw it closer to the pianoforte. As he seated himself, he noticed that the music had changed and that her eyes had drifted half closed again. 

“I don’t believe I know this piece. Is it your own composition?” Startled again, her eyes flew briefly to his. _‘No spark,’_ he noticed, unsure if he was feeling satisfaction or regret.

“No, unfortunately. This was written just a few years ago by the younger Mozart. It’s Piano Concerto in C Major.”

“The younger Mozart?” Had he been aware Mozart had a child before his untimely death?

She nodded, still playing. “Franz Mozart, though I believe his family calls him Wolfgang, after his father. He is not widely known yet, but I believe he will be. He was just 20 when he wrote this.”

“It’s lovely. Thought it seems a bit sad perhaps.”

She nodded again. “I am lucky to know of it. A childhood friend of my mother’s has a granddaughter who is a student of Mr. Mozart’s in Lemberg. She was kind enough to copy this for us after hearing it when she went to visit last year.” 

She did not mention that the copying had involved a quiet _Geminio_ spell when no one was watching, but from the knowing look on Harry’s face, he doubtless suspected it. Hermione also didn’t mention that alone in the dower house she had sometimes played this piece for hours at a time after her brother’s death. Observing the close family dynamic at dinner had reminded her afresh of her losses – there had been no intentional plan to play it tonight.

 _‘Lucky to know of a sad piece?’_ Harry frowned, realizing how little he knew of her. He said quietly, “Thank you, Miss Granger, for your acceptance of my apology earlier. I do sincerely regret that I did not honor the commitment I made to dance with you at your Almack’s debut last week. It had been very much my intention to see you there, but it was an evening of bad decisions for which I must take full responsibility. Unfortunately, as a result of those poor decisions, by the time I arrived it was after 11 pm. The sponsors are quite serious about their arrival cut-off time, I fear, and I was wrong to believe they might make an exception in my case.” 

She played the final notes of the concerto, then turned on the bench to face him. She was studying him closely, he noticed. 

_‘Oh bloody hell, she probably thinks I was off visiting some Muggle mistress that I don’t have!’_ Before he could speak again to clarify his poor phrasing, he saw her nod once more as she clearly reached some internal conclusion. 

“You are forgiven, Lord Potter, not that there is anything to forgive. You owed me nothing and,” she smiled, “I am happy to report I survived the terror of the occasion even without your presence.”

He smiled back, thinking again how lovely she was. “Are you looking forward to the trip to Richmond Park, Miss Granger? I believe you will like it exceedingly. It is quite beautiful.”

Her smile deepened, revealing a dimple in her left cheek, as she glanced at the group behind them. “It should be an interesting day. Ned was quite right about Lord Clarkson, as I am sure you know. He spent much of our time on Saturday asking me about Ginny whenever the figures of the dance brought us together.”

“Having known Ginevra since the cradle, I have no doubt we would not be going on this expedition at all unless that interest was in some way reciprocated.” Any thought he’d had that she would confirm this theory was dashed when her expression revealed nothing more than polite interest. 

He leaned closer. “Now what _I_ think is interesting, Miss Granger, is that our Ned did nothing to object to Miss Edgecombe joining the group this weekend. It is no secret, I think, that Miss Edgecombe tends to gaze worshipfully at Lord Weasley whenever they are in the same room.”

She refused to be drawn, though she had to laugh at the mischief glinting in those incredible green eyes. “I think Ned was hopeful that you would be taking his place on this trip altogether, Lord Potter, but resigned himself to his fate once his father made his expectation clear.”

He laughed back at her. Lord, she was pretty. He liked her quiet humor and the way she lost herself in the music she played. He spoke impulsively. “Miss Granger, would you like to drive with me in Hyde Park tomorrow afternoon? Assuming the weather holds, of course.”

“Harry! Hermione!” Ginny called peremptorily. “Any interest in playing cards?”

“Yes, of course,” Hermione responded to Ginny. As she and Harry both stood, and he waited for her to proceed him, she said to him softly, “Yes, thank you, Lord Potter. That sounds pleasant.”

***

On his way home later that night, still smiling as he reflected on the enjoyable evening, Harry suddenly remembered that she would be returning to Wittbury at some future point, and his plan to not to pursue the acquaintance. 

But even as he swore softly, he realized he was looking forward to their drive the next day and the chance to know her better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Reviews are appreciated.


	9. Chapter 9

Ginny opened the door of Hermione’s bedroom and stuck her head in as soon as she saw the maid leave, startling Hermione, who was just crawling into bed. “Well?” she demanded. 

Hermione assumed an innocent expression. “Whatever do you mean, Ginevra?” she asked.

Face alight with amusement, Ginny closed the door behind her and sank onto the foot of the bed, kicking off her shoes, then pulling her legs up to wrap her arms around her knees. 

“Harry was with you at the pianoforte for quite a while before you joined us for the card game. How did it go?”

Hermione tucked a pillow behind her back as she leaned against the headboard, drawing her own knees up as she faced her friend. 

“Well, I confirmed nothing, of course, but he does suspect that you are most likely every bit as interested in Lord Clarkson as he is in you,” she answered with a giggle. 

Blushing, Ginny playfully swatted Hermione’s blanket-wrapped legs. “We are NOT changing the subject, Hermione Granger. Now tell me everything!”

Hermione smiled. It was just too reminiscent of so many nights at St. Anne’s. Neither of them had really considered an experience to be concluded until it had been thoroughly analyzed with the other. She had missed this. 

“All right,” she conceded. “But be assured we will be returning to the subject of the charming Lord Clarkson.”

Ginny admitted that was only fair. Taking a deep breath, Hermione said, “He’s taking me driving in Hyde Park tomorrow afternoon.” 

Ginny, who had just started to recline on one elbow, bolted upright. “WHAT?” she said in a loud whisper. “In his high perch phaeton?!”

Hermione bit her lip. “I don’t know? He just said he would pick me up at two.”

Ginny stared at her, awe-struck. “It would have to be the phaeton – I don’t believe he keeps another carriage here in town. Harry **never** takes women driving in the park, and he rarely takes up passengers in the phaeton. I had to beg for weeks to get a ride, and he only agreed because we were in the country at the time. And because I was relentless! He must _really_ like you.”

It was Hermione’s turn to blush. “I really don’t know why I said yes. Nothing can come of it. I’ll be going home soon enough.”

Ginny swatted her again. “Nothing can come of it? Oh, please! Don’t be so swift to rule out happily ever after!”

Hermione winced. “This isn’t a fairy tale, Ginevra. Lord Potter is very nice, but his life is here in London and mine…isn’t. I am sure I’ll enjoy the drive tomorrow, and the trip to Richmond Park on Saturday, but then it will be time to think about returning home.”

Ginny rolled her eyes, but had the good sense not to argue further. Hermione’s stubbornness could make most mules look easygoing if her back was up. 

Deciding to switch tactics, she said, “I hope you won’t leave too soon. I don’t think Mama would have let me go to Richmond Park with Derian if you weren’t coming along.”

Hermione raised her brows. “Derian, is it?” 

Ginny made a face. “Just to you, and in my head. We haven’t actually made it past the ‘Lord Clarkson’ and ‘Miss Weasley’ stage. But oh, Hermione, isn’t he perfect?”

Hermione secretly had no idea how Ginny could prefer Derian to Harry, but it seemed rude to say so, and he really did seem like a very nice man. “Tell me why you like him so much,” she replied gently. 

Like school days of old, shared confidences lasted late into the night.

***

The footman appeared promptly at two the next day to announce Lord Potter. Entering the parlor, Harry greeted Hermione along with Ginny and Lady Weasley, then added apologetically, “Are you ready to go? I don’t want to leave my horses standing for too long.” 

Having been warned by Ned at breakfast that this would be the case, Hermione had her wrap and gloves at hand. She nodded with a smile, and got to her feet even as she donned her bonnet. 

Ginny moved as if she planned to rise as well but a look from her mother returned her attention to her needlework. “Have fun, you two,” she said with a subtle wink at Hermione once Harry’s back was turned.

Walking outside, Hermione had her first close look at the high perch carriage. She had seen several in traffic since she had been in London and had been excited at the opportunity to ride in one herself. Standing beside it now though, she was not so sure this was a good idea. The front wheels of the vehicle, with the two-person seat suspended directly over them, were almost as tall as Hermione herself. The rear wheels and the seat itself, she realized with a silent gulp, were probably a yard higher than she. 

Nodding at the footman holding the horses’ heads, Harry stepped beside her and said softly, “The view from up there is amazing.” He saw her bite her lip indecisively, and extended his hand, adding, “Do you trust me?”

Her eyes flew to his, struck anew by how handsome he was, and very conscious of how closely he stood. She glanced again at the seat above her. There was no room on the phaeton for a tiger or a maid to accompany them, not that either would be any help if the contraption toppled over. 

_‘Well, Hermione, you can go back into the house and devote the afternoon to your stitchery or you can take a chance,’_ she thought. Lifting up a silent prayer for her continued survival, she placed her gloved hand in his. “Yes, of course,” she murmured calmly, determined he not know how much her knees were shaking. 

The humor in his eyes told her that he perhaps had some idea. “Up you go, then,” he answered, and explained he would create the first step with his hands and she would then need to step onto the wheel and then into the carriage to reach the seat. She wasn’t sure quite how it happened, but somehow she was in before she could voice her concerns.

With his passenger safely seated, Harry raced around to jump up from the other side, tossed a sovereign to the footman, and suddenly the horses were in motion.

“There should be a carriage blanket on the floorboard, should you become chilled,” he said, as he concentrated on merging them into traffic. 

Hermione shook her head. “I’m fine. It isn’t too windy today.”

He made a face. “Unfortunately, we won’t be able to go much faster than this, even in the park. There is just too much traffic in the City. For which I am sure you are profoundly thankful!” 

He turned his attention away from the horses long enough to flash her a grin. “Nice courage, by the way. I was convinced you were going to plead a headache and go back in the house.”

She lifted her chin, and said primly, “Don’t be absurd, Lord Potter. I know any number of cushioning and slowing charms, and am prepared to obliviate as necessary should I have to cast them.”

His laughter rang out, and she smiled back, relaxing slightly. “In truth, I confess to relief that it appears you know what you are doing.”

Still grinning, Harry responded, “I promise to return you safely, Miss Granger. But will you call me Harry, as Ginny does? I know we have met only a few times, but having heard so much about you since Ginny met you at school, it seems odd to call you “Miss Granger” after thinking of you as “Hermione” for so long.”

Hermione was very conscious of how closely they were seated. She could feel his leg, warm against her own, and smell his spicy scent. _It is completely unfair that any man be this ridiculously attractive._

“I will, Harry, but only if you will call me Hermione.”

They did not chat much as Harry navigated the London streets to take them the short distance from Mayfair to Hyde Park. As they entered the park, Hermione made him laugh again when she finally did look down and stifled a gasp as she realized the suspended seat made it appear as if they were floating a foot or two above the horses’ backs. 

Defying every instinct telling her to clutch the side of the carriage, she kept her hands folded in her lap. “How high are we?”

“How tall are you?”

She sat up straight. “Five three.”

“Higher than that,” he replied, then laughed again as she nodded a tad grimly.

“Are you afraid of heights?” 

She shook her head. “I’m not really. I could always beat my brother in a tree climbing contest when we were young.” She flashed her dimple at him. “I’m just not quite sure this conveyance is as soundly constructed as a tree!”

Had he known she had a brother? Harry realized Ginny really had not said much about Hermione’s family. 

“And which of you is winning the tree-climbing contests these days?” he said lightly, nodding at an acquaintance as they passed and ignoring the gaping stare on the man’s face at the unfamiliar sight of Harry in the park with a woman.

He realized Hermione had gone still, and glanced over to find a stricken expression on her face. 

“John passed away seven months ago,” she said softly. “A riding accident.” Seeing his horrified gaze, she added, “I’m sorry. I was unaware that you did not know.”

Mentally planning Ginny’s slow and painful demise, Harry answered, “No, **I** am sorry. I had no wish to cause you distress by introducing such a painful topic. I assure you that had I known –“

She interrupted him, shaking her head. “There is no need for apology, Harry. And honestly, it is good to speak of John. 

“Everyone means well, but when I bring him up around those who knew him, there is often this immediate and peculiar pool of silence, followed by a subject change. I am sometimes left wondering if I had imagined speaking of him at all.”

That he understood. “I know exactly what you mean. It was like that at University when I returned after my father’s death. It was as if everyone believed I would only remember him if they allowed the subject to be discussed.”

“Yes, precisely! Like there was some chance your loss was not already on your mind and that you wouldn’t even be grieving but for the conversation!” Hesitantly, she added, “I am sorry for your loss. My own father died a few years ago. I know firsthand how devastating that is.”

“I knew that. He died shortly before you went to St. Anne’s, didn’t he?” At her nod, he added, “Ned told me after receiving one of Ginny’s first letters home that she had made another friend who had lost a father to dragon pox. Mine had died the year before.” She touched his arm briefly in silent sympathy.

On impulse, he turned the horses onto a less crowded path and slowed them to a walk. “I always wanted a brother. Tell me about yours?”

Her smile lit her whole face and once again he was aware of an odd surge between them. She did not seem to notice as she launched into stories of the adored older brother who had been by turns seemed to have been her favorite playmate, her worst enemy, her fierce protector, and the shared owner of most childhood memories. 

“We were only fifteen months apart, you see. He was my best friend.” She studied her hands in a way that made him suspect she was fighting tears. “I miss him every day, and I hate the fact that Alex will grow up without knowing him.”

She did not know what, if anything, he knew about Alex but decided it was time for a subject change. They had stopped a couple of times in their progress around the park to chat briefly with acquaintances of Harry’s, and she had no wish to be caught crying in a public place. 

“So Lord Weasley asked last night about your House of Lords speech. Ginny had mentioned he was sponsoring you. What’s your topic?”

He grimaced. “That is yet to be determined. Lord Weasley was most gracious in his offer of sponsorship, but I apparently haven’t quite decided that I want to take my place in the House of Lords.” 

At her confused look, he continued with a quirked grin. “Every time I plan to sit down and write that speech, I seem to come up with something better to do. Consequently, the speech doesn’t get written, which means the speech doesn’t get scheduled for delivery.” 

As they rejoined the main path, he added, “My mother says I am quite gifted in my strategy of avoiding things I don’t want to deal with.” _Now why in the name of Merlin did I say THAT?_

To his surprise, she laughed softly. “It would seem to be a skill we share, Harry.” She spread her hands to gesture around them. “You’ve just explained my entire trip to London. Not to mention my enrollment at St. Anne’s. At least you are not fleeing town!” 

He smiled back. “I am pleased to find myself in such good company, madam. Another lap around the park?” She nodded, and he flicked the horses into a trot. 

Time sped as their conversation turned more general. Each was thrilled when it was revealed the other loved to read. Harry told her he had just finished Sense and Sensibility that morning. “I had originally planned to finish it last night when I got home, but ended up falling asleep after only two chapters. Luckily, my servants are quite used to me bringing a book to breakfast and know to leave me alone when I do.” 

He glanced about as if checking to see if they could be overheard, and lowered his voice in a dramatic way. “Never tell, but I’ve not read a single word of the _Times_ today.”

Hermione obligingly lowered her own voice and said, “Your secret is safe with me, sir.” Laughing at him, she added in a normal tone, “I _miss_ reading at breakfast – it is one of the absolute pleasures of living alone, I have found. I read Sense and Sensibility when it came out last year. It was wonderful! Have you also read Pride and Prejudice?”

He had not realized she lived alone, and made a mental note to ask Ned or Ginny about that. “I have indeed. I suppose you’re going to tell me you fell hopelessly in love with Mr. Darcy?”

He got another flash of her dimple as she replied in a mock-reproving tone, “Naturally. There are not many men who will change for love, after all. You must admit Elizabeth leapt to all kinds of mistaken conclusions about his character. And her wounded pride caused her to spurn him when he proposed the first time.” 

“Ah, but wasn’t Darcy’s prejudice the bigger character flaw? He may not have intended her to overhear his remarks about her family, but the sentiments were his own.”

“Don’t you think they were _both_ guilty of both pride and prejudice?” 

The subject was cheerfully debated throughout the drive home to the immense pleasure of both. After helping her down from the phaeton on reaching the Weasley residence, Harry grinned down at her. 

“I cannot recall enjoying a discussion more, Miss Granger. I look forward to seeing you on Saturday.”

Hermione blushed, and glanced up the steps at the butler, already holding the door open. “I look forward to it as well. Thank you for the drive today. It was a pleasure.”

Had they but known it, each had the same thought: ‘ _It seems a very long time until Saturday._ ’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Reviews are appreciated.


	10. Chapter 10

After breakfast the following morning, Ginny and her mother left the house to return a few calls while Hermione stayed behind to catch up on her correspondence. She completed a letter to her mother and a shorter note to be read to Alex filled with animated drawings of Harry’s high perch phaeton and the ducks and children in Hyde Park, then began a letter to her sister-in-law with a more detailed version of her encounters with Harry the prior two days.

 _‘There is no denying that we get along extremely well, Abby,’_ she wrote. _‘Honestly, we converse so naturally that I believe we could talk for hours and never run out of things to say.’_

She nibbled the end of her quill, then continued. _‘He makes me laugh, and he LISTENS so well – better even than William did, I think. I told Harry all about John and he never tried to change the subject. He actually asked a lot of questions about our childhood and our relationship._

_‘William liked John, as you know, but once John was gone it never seemed like we could discuss him. I would bring him up, and he would listen politely but then find a way to turn the subject. It was so obvious that discussing John, or even our father, made him uncomfortable. I asked him about it once, and he just said he hated to see me sad. It was their DEATHS that make me sad, not talking about them! I find it even more sad to think that people who knew them apparently believe we should politely pretend they never existed to avoid making others feel ill at ease._

_‘You know how you and I have discussed before about the odd pool of silence that often arises when John’s or Father’s name comes up? I mentioned it to Harry and he knew exactly what I was talking about. He said he went through it himself with his friends after his own father died, and that he wished everyone knew discussing our memories kept our loved ones alive for us. And that is precisely it, is it not?_

_‘We had a very spirited debate on a book we’d both read. You would have been surprised, Abby – my fabled shyness was nowhere to be found - I was able to argue my points quite fiercely. And I am pleased that to report he did the same, rather than letting me win the argument out of politeness or disinterest or taking offense over my disagreement with his opinion. Neither mind was changed, of course, but I believe we both quite enjoyed the discussion._

_‘Oh, and you know how I appalled you when I confided that I had taken to reading at the breakfast table at home after Mother moved back to the main house? I can now confirm that apparently all the best people are doing this! Harry confides he too reads at breakfast when he is not in company. I know it will be a few years before Alex will allow you to do so, but I assure you it is a blissful activity, and something else that I miss of home._

_‘On Saturday, Harry, Ned and their friend Lord Clarkson (who is very much interested in Ginny!) are taking us to Richmond Park, which is a little more than an hour’s drive away. It is supposed to be very beautiful, filled with ponds and lakes and paths for walking as well as driving. I believe it is one of the largest parks in England, and was founded by Charles I as a deer preserve. I am told there is all manner of wildlife and nature there now and I am so looking forward to it! It will be so good to escape the city for a while. I do miss our daily nature walks!_

_‘There is a residence there too, which once belonged to the monarchy. I believe a former Prime Minister lives there now, and that the public is not allowed too close to the White Lodge, as it is called._

_‘Ned tells me that Princess Amelia actually closed the park to the public in 1751, only to have a local brewer take the matter to court a few years later after the park gatekeepers prevented his entry. The court ruled that King Charles had intended the public to have access, and it has ever since. Needless to say, I was somewhat skeptical of this story, but Ned assures me it is quite true. Ginny says that after the brewer went to all of that trouble, it is every British citizen’s duty to visit Richmond Park when in the area, so we are going to do our part!’_

Casting a quick Tempus spell, Hermione realized that Ginny and her mother would be home for luncheon soon. She had promised to join them on their shopping expedition that afternoon. She bit her lip. There was more she wanted to say to Abby, but she needed to finish her letters so that Lady Weasley’s maid could take them to the owlery.

Quickly, she added, _‘I long to see you, sister, and I have an idea. Next week, the Weasleys will be attending a ball on Friday. I had planned to go also, but I think what I would like to do more is to stay home and then use the Floo in Lady Weasley’s room to come through and visit with you and Mother after you have Alex put to bed. I would love to see him as well, but then we would never get him to sleep!_

_‘The family is typically out quite late when attending events such as these, so our visit would not need to be rushed at all. I will tell the staff here I am retiring early, Lady W’s maid could let me know when it is clear for me to come to that bedroom, and we could finally, finally talk in person. Let me know by return owl if this would not work for you._

_‘Much love to you, and I hope to see you very soon!_

_Hermione’_

***

Ned was in the market for a new horse and had asked Harry to accompany him to Tattersalls. Several hours later, they agreed that a beautiful black thoroughbred had the best lines and lineage. After completing the purchase, Ned made arrangements for the horse to be delivered to the stable the Weasleys rented in town on the following day. 

Business concluded, the friends retired to one of the subscription rooms for a pint. Harry feared he knew what was coming, and Ned did not disappoint. No sooner were they seated than his friend was raising an eyebrow and asking “Something you’d like to tell me, Potter?”

Harry flushed. They had been stopped by friends or acquaintances several times that morning, and several had a question or comment about his drive in Hyde Park with a female the prior day. 

“It was just a drive in the park. I’m not sure what you’re asking.”

Ned regarded him steadily. “And how often do you take young ladies driving in the park, Harry? Half the town is talking about it. “

Harry rolled his eyes. “Something will happen to give them something else to talk about soon enough. Let’s not make a big deal of this.”

Ned took a sip of his ale and smiled at his friend. “So it didn’t go well?”

Harry fought the urge to fidget under Ned’s level gaze. “It was fine. Hermione is a very pleasant young lady.”

“’Hermione’, is it?” Ned’s brow arched again. 

_I really hate that I can’t do that._ “Yes, well, it seemed ridiculous to keep calling her Miss Granger when I have routinely referred to her as Hermione with you and Ginny for the past several years. I proposed we use given names, and she was in agreement.”

“Oh, you proposed, did you?” Ned’s eyes gleamed with mischief. “And would you be planning any additional proposals for our houseguest?”

“Now, see here, Ned!” An indignant Harry half rose before he realized Ned was laughing at him. He resumed his seat, shaking his head. “Honestly, if I’d known it would get this much attention, I never would have asked the girl if she wanted to go.”

“Harry, you are one of the most eligible bachelors in London. You’re wealthy, you’re a peer, and for some reason, the ladies think you attractive - though Lord knows I can’t see it. All of this, my friend, makes you a catch. And because you know all of that, you have always been very careful not to show marked interest in any particular woman so as to avoid talk or confusion. Have you ever even danced with a girl more than twice?”

Harry winced. He hadn’t, and for precisely this reason. “No,” he said shortly. “But it was a drive in the park, Ned. I hardly think she will be expecting a proposal of marriage.”

Ned leaned back in his chair and signaled the waiter for another round. “I don’t think she is. While she seems to be enjoying her time here, Hermione has mentioned a couple of times that she doesn’t see herself living in the City. I don’t think becoming Lady Potter is something she has any interest in. I know she misses her family, and I expect she’ll be returning home soon enough. There’s been some talk about her opening a potions shop.” He leaned forward. “It’s YOU that I am concerned about. Are you forming an attachment, old lad?”

Harry ignored the question and seized on the other remarks. “Potions shop? Is she in need of funds to support herself? She said something about living alone, and I meant to ask you about that.”

“Probably not quite what you think – she and her mother had retired to the dower house on the family property when her brother got married. Mrs. Granger moved back to the main house to help her daughter-in-law with her nephew when her son was killed, but Hermione chose to remain in the dower house – I’m not sure why.”

 _‘Trying to avoid ghosts,’_ thought Harry. He remembered staying in town after the University term for the first summer break after his father died – somehow returning to Grasmere just seemed too bleak a prospect at the time, even though his mother was there. He still felt a bit guilty about that, but it had seemed very necessary at the time.

“As for the funds,” Ned continued, “I think her inheritance from her father provides her enough to live on if she’s careful, but I know she wants to find a way to stay busy. Since she left school, she’s been working part time at an apothecary shop, but with her family moving away and since her engagement’s fallen through…” 

Harry interrupted him, an arrested look in his green eyes. “I’m sorry. _What_?!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N – the story about the brewer suing for renewed access to Richmond Park is true, and it was just too amusing not to include. 
> 
> As for Tattersalls, one internet source said that during the Regency period horse sales were on Mondays and Thursdays except in the Spring, when they were on Mondays only; another said that horse sales were on Mondays and Thursdays during the Season. Since the latter made more sense to me, and worked better for my story, Ned and Harry are horse shopping on a Thursday.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Harry learns more about Hermione but even more about himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N - This chapter begins immediately where Chapter 10 left off so it might be helpful to re-read the last couple of paragraphs of that chapter first.

Ned leaned back in his chair, a sardonic smile on his face. “Well, well. You’re jealous.”

Harry had no idea what his friend was talking about. “JEALOUS? Of being abandoned? Are you mad?”

“You think if she returns home she’ll be abandoning you?”

A bewildered Harry stared at him. “Ned, I’ve been with you all morning, so I know for a bloody fact that you’ve had only two pints of ale. Did you by chance hit your head when I wasn’t looking?”

“What?”

Harry briefly closed his eyes and was successful in not grabbing his friend by the collar. “I believe that was _my_ question, was it not? What do you mean when you say Hermione’s family is moving away?”

Ned’s brow cleared. “OH! Sorry, old lad. I thought you were jealous when I mentioned the former fiancé. Which I now recall Ginny instructed me not to tell you about. Yes, the mother, sister-in-law and nephew are about to move to another town. Bibury, I believe. It’s about 20 miles away from Hermione.”

Harry was aware of his magic swirling as his anger increased. He fought for self-control as he said quietly, “How could they do that?”

It was Ned’s turn to feel confused. “You must see that they need to do something. With Alex’s condition….”

Once again, Harry had no idea what his friend was talking about, but he didn’t care. He interrupted to hiss, “Her father and brother just died! And they’re leaving her BY HERSELF? What kind of people _do_ that?”

Ned frowned. “As I understand it, Hermione completely supports this move. And her father died several years ago –“

Once again, Harry cut him off. “Just four years ago, I believe. And the brother – the man she described as her best friend - has been dead less than a year.”

Seeing the closed, angry look on his friend’s face, Ned was reminded that Harry had his own experience with personal loss. He suddenly remembered a conversation he’d had with his mother about a year after Daniel Potter passed away.

He’d been bemoaning Harry’s ongoing moodiness and his waffling interest in things that used to consume them both. His mother, who had lost her own father before she was forty, had looked at him and said seriously, “ _You can’t understand this yet, Ned, and I hope it will be many years before you can. For now, you need to trust me when I tell you that Harry needs space and patience and not judgment or pressure. If you cannot offer him that, or if you need him to recover on your schedule rather than his own, then there really isn’t much to the relationship, is there?”_

Swallowing now, he said, “I see what you’re saying. The brother dying likely just ripped open any scab that was starting to form, didn’t it?”

Harry sighed, and rubbed his forehead. “It’s not like you ever stop missing someone you love, but it …. settles, with time. You still grieve, but one day, it hurts less and you realize you’ve started to enjoy life again. But yes, I imagine going through it again so soon would just bring it all back. 

He sighed again. “I know she came here to escape the reality of home without them, but I didn’t realize she would be going back to no one.” He briefly pondered whether he would ever have returned to Grasmere had his mother not been there. He wasn’t sure he would have.

Belatedly, he processed something else Ned had said. After glancing around to ensure no one was close by, he asked in a lowered voice, “So does Alex need some type of Muggle medical treatment? What’s wrong with him?”

Wincing, Ned wondered if this was another topic he had not been supposed to mention. Well, it was too late now. He had known Harry for too long - that narrowed green gaze meant he was determined to get at the truth, and that evasion was useless. 

“He’s a Squib,” he said bluntly. 

***

It hadn’t taken him long to get the full story out of Ned, but the full story certainly hadn’t improved his mood. Deprived of slamming his front door (opened and closed by the butler he paid for the task), he curtly informed the man that he was not to be disturbed and stormed off to his study where he fought off the temptation to slam THAT door. 

He rewarded himself for his good behavior by exploding the throw pillows on the sofa with a wandless spell, sending their contents high into the air and around the room. He followed the brief tantrum with a muttered _“Evanesco!”_ to remove the evidence.

Still angry, he paced the room, snorting as he recalled Ned thinking he’d been jealous of a fiancé he hadn’t known anything about. And apparently THAT cad had been a bounder just as much as Mr. Wickham in Pride and Prejudice _! ‘Seriously, what is WRONG with women and their appalling taste in men?’_

Harry knew on some level he was not quite ready to acknowledge that he was a bit hurt that Hermione hadn’t mentioned the fiancé. He understood why she had not told him about Alex, especially in view of the fiance’s reaction to the diagnosis. She probably considered that to be a private family matter, and it was not as if he could profess to know the girl well. 

For the family to just pick up and **_leave_** her though! Even her mother! Anyone with sense should know it was too soon for her to undergo another negative life change.

 _‘But she probably told them it was a good plan, and that she understood.’_ He already knew her well enough to know she was likely to put their needs before her own. 

“They should have known better,” he informed the fireplace.

Sighing at the idiocy of selfless females, Harry reminded himself that it was none of his business and that Hermione had not asked for his help. Feeling somewhat calmer, he sat down at his desk with the intention of actually working on his House of Lords speech. 

After setting up parchment and quill, he found himself distracted by memories of her dimpled smile during their book discussion and the flash of her brown eyes whenever she thought she’d made a particularly clever argument. His jaw clenched as he also remembered her studying her hands in her lap, clearly trying not to cry, when they were discussing her brother.

Impatiently, he glanced at the mantlepiece clock. His mother had Floo-called him that morning to ask him to come round for tea. Three hours to go.

Frowning, he stood up and balled up the parchment, tossing it into the flames. He wasn’t in the mood to write that speech. He was in the mood to punch someone. He would just need to hope he would find someone at Jackson’s willing to step into the ring with him. 

***

The exercise had helped. The other gentlemen present when Harry entered the boxing saloon correctly read his mood and wisely refused to spar with him. Joe Jackson had taken pity on him and agreed to box a few rounds with him, with the caveat that Harry first spend 20 minutes with the heavy bag and 20 minutes with the speed one. 

By the time he’d finished with the bags, he was able to laugh at the ease with which Gentleman Joe could block most of his punches. He agreed his focus just wasn’t there, and headed for home in a much better frame of mind in timeto wash up a bit before his tea with his mother.

An hour later, Wilkins was letting the other servants know that Master Harry had not slept well the night before and that he was taking a nap to improve his mood, and Harry was stepping through the Floo into his mother’s sitting room where a lavish tea tray awaited.

After greeting her son, Margaret waved her wand to pour each of them a cup of tea while Harry perused the biscuit selection after selecting several small sandwiches and two tarts for his plate. 

“This was one of my better ideas,” Margaret said. “Not only do I get to see you twice in one week, but Cook will be thrilled to have her good work appreciated for a change.”

Still loading his plate, Harry glanced in her direction. “Still skipping luncheon, I suppose? I missed it today myself since I knew I would be here. No offense to my own chef, but there is just something to what Cook can do to a tart that makes me determined to do her work justice.”

Smiling fondly, Margaret said, “I do always _intend_ to eat, but I get caught up and my work and,” she made a comical face, “suddenly I’m in Cook’s bad graces again. Your visit will have her smiling again though.” 

Mouth full, Harry just nodded until he had finished his sandwich and taken a sip of tea, then said, “I’ll make sure to swing by the kitchen to thank her before I leave. I don’t think she missed a single one of my favorites. So what have you been working on today?”

“Oh, a bit of brewing and working in my garden. You know me in the spring – I can’t resist all the fresh ingredients available.” His mother was a skilled potion maker and made most of the potions for the estate herself. Since she preferred to grow her own plant-based ingredients where possible, her garden was not small.

“What about you, dearest? Were you able to resolve the matter with the Weasleys’ houseguest?” She could tell her son was distracted by something, and watched him carefully under her eyelashes as she sipped her tea.

“What? Oh, that. Yes, I apologized Tuesday night, she accepted, and all is forgiven. We actually went for a drive in the park yesterday and I’ve agreed to be one of a small group going to Richmond Park on Saturday.”

“Mmmm?” Margaret murmured encouragingly, while taking a small bite of a watercress sandwich. She did not mention that she had clapped her hands when Miriam had told her about that carriage ride. Harry _never_ took young ladies driving.

“Yes, and we learned we have some things in common. She lost her own father the year after I did, and her brother died last year. She came to London to escape a bit, I think.”

Margaret winced in sympathy. “Oh, the poor girl. How is she doing?”

Harry frowned. “Well, that’s the thing….” Between bites, he told his mother the whole story and Margaret was secretly thrilled at his animation on Hermione’s behalf. 

“And nobody seems to see anything wrong with the family just taking off and leaving her, but I think it’s a bloody stupid idea!” he concluded.

“Language, Harry,” Margaret returned, with a mild look of reproof. “I do see your point, but I confess I see her sister-in-law’s as well. Even in our own village, Squib children are not always treated kindly. And if he were not mistreated, the child would still be very conscious of being different.”

Nibbling at a strawberry, she asked, “Are you so sure she was not asked to accompany them?”

“I don’t know. She may well have been, but of course she wouldn’t want to go. Why would she want to live around Muggles all the time if she didn’t have to? She’s a magical – she would be living half a life!”

 _‘Aha! Now we’re getting somewhere.’_ “Hmmm,” Margaret murmured. “Yes, I do see that. We will just have to hope it works itself out. Perhaps the fiancé will have a change of heart.”

Harry glared at her accusingly. “The _fiancé_! He’s an idiot who doesn’t deserve her! Why on earth would she take HIM back? You cannot think that is what she should do.”

Her face reflected her usual serene calm, but inside Margaret was exultant. He was _much_ further along than she’d hoped. _“Now let’s see if we can start putting the puzzle pieces together. But I need to be careful.’_

“I don’t know what’s best for her, dearest, but as you say, she’ll be alone and that might be hard for her. It is difficult to know what is best for her when I don’t know the girl. I’m sure it will work itself out though. Things typically do.” 

She took another sip of tea and arranged an expression of polite inquiry. 

“Any update on your House of Lords speech? Have you decided on a topic?” 

Harry stared. “House of - ! Oh, _bug –_ er, I mean, _bother_ the House of Lords speech! This is more important! I don’t even know if I want to be in the House of Lords, anyway.”

 _Careful, Margaret._ “Really, dearest? I thought you had your heart set on being an active peer of the realm, like Lord Weasley and your father.”

Harry sighed, rubbing his forehead. “Well, I know that’s the expectation but is it what I want? I don’t know that it is. Too late now, though, I suppose.”

His mother put down her teacup. “The expectation?”

He gestured vaguely. “Oh, not just you, but Lord Weasley, and Father and … even me, I guess. I don’t want to live a useless life. It makes sense to get involved with the House of Lords where I can at least try to push for social reform.”

She made a dismissive movement with her hand. “Harry, you may disregard any expectations you think your father and I had for your future. You were nineteen years old when Daniel passed away. Did we have dreams for you? Of course we did, but you might be surprised to know we were not always in agreement as to what those should be.”

His eyes flew to her face. His parents had always seemed so perfectly in sync. They had disagreed about his future?

Her green eyes met his with an intent expression he had rarely seen. “There are plenty of ways to give your life meaning, my son. The House of Lords isn’t the only way to contribute.”

Shoving his empty plate away, Harry rolled his eyes. “You _know_ what the average life of a peer is like. The ones that aren’t active in politics seem to waste their days on fashion, or sport, or gambling. God, I get so _bored_ sometimes, but ….”

“But….?” she said gently.

He flushed. “I’ve always wanted to make Father proud.”

“Darling, your father could never be anything but proud of you. What were you going to say?” _‘Come on, Harry. You’re so close.’_

He leaned forward and put his elbows on his knees, clutching his head in his hands. “It’s the city. It’s –“

“Yes?”

Harry looked up, and Margaret’s eyes immediately stung at the look of conflicted anguish on his face.

“It’s….it’s…,” his head dropped again.

“Just say it, darling. You know you can tell me anything.”

“It feels like it’s closing in on me.” He looked up again and relaxed minutely at her calm expression. “I feel more and more cut off from my magic. I read _The Times,_ and it is like it is reporting on a world I don’t understand, and I’m not sure that I want to.”

His mother reached over and took his hand between both of her own, her eyes never leaving his. “What is it you want, Harry?”

He exhaled in a sigh that seemed to come from his very core, and then his voice firmed. “I want to be here. I want to be a wizard in a magical society, with all of the benefits and responsibilities that entails, not just casting an occasional _Nox_ spell when I’m on the verge of sleep and hiding my power from most of the people I know. I want be involved with our factories, and our people. I want to raise a family here at Grasmere.” _‘No wonder I think Hermione could not be happy in Bibury. I feel like **I’m** living half a life.’_

Margaret squeezed his hand. “Then, my darling child, that is exactly what you should do.” _‘I told you, Daniel. I told you.’_ She had never seen their son’s future lying in Muggle politics, or in a Muggle city for that matter. He was too much like her.

He gave a rueful grin. “Oh, it’s a nice dream but unfortunately not something I can actually _do_. Even if I don’t take my seat in the House of Lords, I’m still Lord Potter and I’m fairly well known. I can hardly just drop out of sight, especially to reside in a village I cannot invite people to visit. 

“And when I do have children, my son would need to be raised as a future peer. It would be selfish for me to remove myself completely from society, and lose track of people who could potentially help him in the future.”

“Hmmm,” Margaret said with a thoughtful expression. “I think there are perhaps ways around those issues.”

He looked at her, an expression of cautious hope on his face. Before he could speak, his mother rose gracefully and bent to kiss his cheek. 

“But those are for later darling. You will first need to be very sure of what you want. The things I am thinking of would be extremely difficult to undo.”

She patted the cheek she’d just kissed. “Now I have a coven meeting this evening, and I believe you were heading in to speak to Cook? She’ll be so pleased when she sees the empty tea tray. Will you carry that down when you go?”

He hardly had time to process the kiss she blew in his direction before he heard the sharp crack of her Disapparition.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N - My longest chapter yet, and Hermione wasn't even in it! 
> 
> Thanks for reading! As always, reviews are appreciated.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N - Thank you to the guest reviewer who pointed out that I confused my Austin novels, having Harry read Sense & Sensibility in Chapter 7 and then discuss Pride & Prejudice with Hermione in Chapter 9. I have now edited Chapter 9 to make that discussion make sense and would like to thank the reviewer to catching the continuity error!

When Hermione woke up Saturday morning, her first thought was of the weather. Startling the maid who was just bringing in the warm water, she bounded out of bed to pull the curtains back, then sighed with relief. It was a beautiful, sunny day with not a cloud in the sky. She hurriedly washed and dressed, then headed down to breakfast.

As she entered the breakfast parlor, she was startled to see Ginny, already dressed and helping herself to sausages. 

“What?” Ginny said defensively at Hermione’s surprised look. “I can get up early.”

Amid the general laughter, Ned added, “She knows I’ll leave her.” 

Ginny tossed her head. “You cannot leave me, Edward. Think how disappointed Lord Clarkson would be. I believe this expedition was _his_ plan, was it not?” She stuck out her tongue playfully, which only made everyone laugh the harder.

o o o

The group was borrowing Lady Weasley’s barouche for the journey, with the plan of one gentleman riding in the carriage with the ladies and the other two riding alongside. 

After Harry arrived for breakfast, it was agreed that he and Ned would ride. As Harry said to more laughter, they wanted to give Ginny and Derian plenty of time to make moon eyes at one another.

“We have to think of the man’s safety, Ginny,” Ned said to his blushing sister. “If we put him on a horse, he is likely to walk it straight into the carriage while staring at you.” 

Ginny sent an anxious glance to Hermione, who gave an imperceptible nod to signal that she would not allow the men to tease Ginny once Lord Clarkson joined the group. 

Seeing the silent exchange and guessing its cause, Harry nudged Ginny and murmured, “You know we won’t embarrass you in front of Derian, Gin.” He then flashed both Ginny and Hermione his most devilish smile and added, “But until then…” He wagged his eyebrows wildly to more laughter. 

_‘He’s not just handsome and humorous,’_ thought Hermione. _‘He’s **nice**.’ _She wasn’t sure why, but the thought gave her a warm glow.

The high spirits continued as Lord Clarkson arrived and the picnic hampers were stowed. Sophie Edgecombe and her maid were collected from her home on their way out of town. Once Sophie was in the carriage, and the maid safely seated beside the coachman, the group set out toward Richmond Park, some eleven miles away. 

City traffic prohibited the horse-riders from both riding alongside the barouche. Ned and Harry rode ahead, while Hermione and Ginny sat facing Sophie Edgecombe and Lord Clarkson respectively in the carriage.

Hermione made an effort to draw out Sophie, who she knew but slightly. She noticed Ginny and Lord Clarkson had no trouble making conversation. Her friend seemed to sparkle as they conversed, and Hermione was pleased to see that Lord Clarkson both seemed to take Ginny’s opinions seriously and yet did not hesitate to give his own. It was all well and fine to be adored, but she knew Ginny would be bored in the long term with a man who had no opinions, and would have little patience with a man who thought he could dictate hers. As the conversation became more general between the four of them, she thought she could like Lord Clarkson very well.

She was startled by Harry’s voice, as his horse came up beside the open carriage. “Ladies, are you looking forward to Richmond Park?” 

His question was clearly addressed to both her and to Sophie, but was she imagining that his gaze seemed to linger slightly on her? She was suddenly glad she had chosen the pale pink gown that morning, a color her father and John had often complimented. 

Both ladies responded affirmatively, with Miss Edgecombe adding that her mama had been a little reluctant to let her come without any chaperone other than her maid. “But once she knew that Lord Weasley was coming with us, then of course, she knew I would be fine.”

“Yes, of course,” Harry responded. “That’s our Ned, stalwart defender of helpless women everywhere.” As Sophie nodded seriously, he risked a glance at Hermione and found her eyes filled with mirth. 

“Yes,” she murmured, dropping her lashes so that Sophie would not be offended by the laughter in her eyes. “We must all be thankful that Ned rides ahead, keeping our path safe from ruffians. And we are also thankful for _you_ , Lord Potter, standing ready to assist Lord Weasley in our protection.”

“In the unlikely event that he needs it?” Harry’s eyes were dancing.

Ginny and Lord Clarkson had been listening. “Don’t worry, Miss Edgecombe,” Derian said. “Should any ruffians try to smite us from the rear, I assure you Lord Potter and I will ensure you ladies come to no harm.” He smiled warmly at Ginny, who blushed.

“I rather think it’s the firearms that John Coachman carries under the seat that will make the difference,” Harry murmured to Hermione, as the group finally exited the City and Lord Clarkson drew Sophie’s attention to the scenery on his side of the carriage. 

Hermione looked at him solemnly, but with her dimple peeping out in her left cheek. “I believe you refer to the armed coachman that Lord Weasley retained, my lord?”

He groaned. “ _Touch_ _é_ , Miss Granger. _Touch_ _é._ ” As laughter lit her face, he thought again how beautiful she was. 

And as green eyes smiled into brown, each was once again aware of an odd electrical surge between them.

o o o

Hermione was slightly surprised when Ned had offered his arm and said gallantly, “May I escort you on the first trail, Miss Granger?” as she exited the carriage. Almost immediately she had to stifle a giggle at his whispered, “Please save me! We’ll trade off, I promise!” 

She could hardly blame him for not wanting to be trapped with the lovestruck Miss Edgecombe the entire day – as he had alternated with Harry in riding alongside the barouche, the obvious nature of Sophie’s infatuation had been very evident. 

Hermione responded to his escort offer by taking his arm and saying “Why, thank you, Lord Weasley. You do me great honor.”

Ginny’s slightly narrowed glance at Harry made it plain to him that he would be escorting Sophie. The two of them followed Ned and Hermione down the wooded path, leaving Ginny and Lord Clarkson to bring up the rear. Sophie’s maid was feeling a trifle ill after the carriage ride and readily agreed to skip the walk and remain with the coachman. She would meet them at a pre-selected picnic spot in two hours’ time with the hampers. 

Richmond Park was absolutely lovely and there was some debate about where to start their exploration. Most of the group had visited before, although it was the first visit for both Hermione and Sophie. However, none of the others felt completely confident they had seen all there was to see in prior visits due to the size of the park. 

After discussion, they decided to start by exploring some of the wooded trails. Hermione reflected she had not fully realized how much she missed open natural spaces until she was walking the winding pebbled paths through the woods. 

At almost every turn, there were explosions of color from rhododendrons or bluebells or snowdrop trees, and she was astonished at the variety of plant life. As a potioneer, she could only be sorry she could not collect samples given the Muggles who were part of their group - her fingers itched to conjure the specimen bags she knew she would have filled if she were alone. As she gazed above her at the ancient trees and the moss and fungi which covered them, and listened to the sounds of the birds chirping about them, she gave a sigh of heart-felt happiness. 

“Hermione, if you had ever looked at me with the expression you are bestowing on that tree, I would have been forced to demand that you be mine,” Ned teased. 

Hermione dimpled at him, missing the almost identical frowns that briefly graced the brows of both Sophie and Harry, walking behind them, at the overheard comment.

“You know how much I am enjoying my time with your family, Ned, but,” she gestured around her, “just _look_ at all of this. Isn’t it simply glorious?” 

He smiled at her fondly. “I agree. I too prefer country to city life.” He sighed. “It never seems I get to spend enough time there.”

Hermione squeezed his arm sympathetically, knowing Ned was trapped by his rank and family expectations just as much as Harry was, perhaps even more so given that his father was a Muggle. She then released him to walk backward so that she could address the rest of their group. 

“It’s so beautiful here! Thank you all for bringing me! And thank you, Lord Clarkson, for thinking of it!”

Glancing behind him, Ned frowned to realize how far behind them Ginny and Derian actually were. He abruptly stopped walking. “I think it’s time for that switch,” he muttered to Hermione. “We’re a bit too far ahead for my chaperoning responsibilities.” 

He turned to address the couple behind them, who had now stopped as well. “Harry, old lad, I’d love an opportunity to stroll with Miss Edgecombe, if you would not mind walking with Hermione? Assuming you would be willing, Miss Edgecombe?”

Sophie blushed scarlet and stammered that she had no objection to the proposed plan. Ned was pleased to see that the pause had forced his sister and her beau to catch up, though Ginny’s look indicated she was not overly happy with his tactics. 

_‘Too bad,’_ he thought. _‘I didn’t want to come today anyway.’_ As Hermione and Harry walked on, he offered Sophie his arm as Ginny and Derian drew abreast. 

“What do you think about letting these two walk ahead of us, Miss Edgecombe? Since it is your first time here, a more leisurely stroll might suit you in spots.” Sophie thanked him, and he raised a sardonic eyebrow at his sister as she passed him. _‘And now I can keep my eye on you, Ginevra!’_

Up ahead, Harry was saying to Hermione, “I assume Ned finally noticed how far behind us Ginny and Derian had fallen?” 

Hermione bit her lip. “Yes, and I blame myself for it taking so long. I was talking the poor man’s ear off about how much I love it here!”

He smiled. “I do as well. This wood seems almost magical, does it not?” 

She gave him a grateful look for his understanding. “It does indeed.”

Glancing behind him, Harry saw that the other couples were not within earshot. “Hermione, I hesitate to mention it, but ….” His voice trailed off.

“Oh, no. Do I have an insect in my hair?” she asked, raising her hands instinctively.

Harry stifled a laugh. “No, no cause for alarm there, I assure you.” He quickly sobered, and when he did not immediately resume talking, Hermione glanced at him with some concern. 

“What is it, Harry?”

He made a face, sorry now that he had introduced the subject. Looking behind him again to ensure that Ned and Sophie were still some distance behind, he said, “Ned mentioned that your family is moving. I was wondering how you felt about that.” 

At her startled look, he winced. “I beg your pardon. He seemed to think that I knew. Obviously there is no reason I should have done, but …” He broke off again.

Hermione bit her lip again. “He told you about my nephew?” At Harry’s nod, she said, “Then you understand that this is something that needs to happen for Alex to have a good life.” 

She sighed. “But it will be difficult, without question.”

They walked in silence for a few moments, then Harry exclaimed, “It just seems so selfish of them to leave you alone like that with all that you’ve lost.”

Hermione slowed and turned her head to give him a level stare. “The losses in my family, Harry, were not unique to me. My mother and my sister-in-law are just as devastated as I, just as I too carry the burden of Alex’s lack of magic. 

“We all have to focus on what is best for him right now, and we know he would not have much chance at a happy life in Wittbury. I would imagine your own village would be no kinder to children in a similar condition, so please do not judge my family’s decisions. I assure you they were not made lightly.”

Lord, was he never to be done with saying the wrong thing to this woman? Harry stopped walking and faced her. “I am sorry. It was not my intent to judge them. I was only – “

Her face softened. “Thinking of me. Yes, and I do appreciate that.” Taking his arm again, they strolled on as she shot a mischievous look at him and asked, “So how is your speech coming, my lord?”

His comically theatric groan sent her into giggles, and harmony was restored between them.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We continue the visit to Richmond Park.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those watching the chapter count on this story, you may have noticed it has changed several times. This story is fully outlined through the end and has been for a quite a while. However, I am finding that some scenes are requiring more time than anticipated. I have increased the projected count to 20 chapters and cannot imagine that it will go longer than that. Keep in mind there was a time when I was convinced it was going to be a one shot, so you should take the new prediction for what it is worth.

It had turned out to be an exceptionally lovely day. As the group emerged from the woods and reconvened at the picnic spot on a hill overlooking one of Richmond Park’s lakes, they were happy to exchange shade for bright sunshine.

As they consumed their picnic luncheon, Derian – by now on a first name basis with the entire group – proposed that they rest for a brief period after the meal and then rent rowboats to better explore one of Richmond Park’s beautiful lakes, a suggestion that was met with acclaim.

“Provided that we begin with that suggested rest,” Ned groaned, lying on his back on the blanket and throwing an arm over his eyes. “I’ve eaten far too much and if we were to row now, I would probably sink the boat. A short nap sounds like just the thing.”

Hermione suspected Ned was looking forward to the nap if only to avoid Sophie Edgecombe’s worshipful gaze for a while. As she glanced at Ginny, she could see her friend had reached the same conclusion.

Standing and brushing the crumbs off her skirt, Ginny gathered the leftover bread into a napkin. “I was thinking of walking down to the water’s edge to feed the ducks, Sophie. Would you like to come with me?”

Sophie looked eager. “Oh, yes please! I haven’t fed the ducks in years!” 

Trailed by Sophie’s maid, the two young women made their way down the hill towards the water as Derian stretched out on the blanket. 

“I suppose you plan on taking a nap as well?” asked Harry sardonically.

A smile flashed across Derian’s face. “The sun feels good. I’m just taking a minute to let it soak in,” he replied as his eyes closed.

Harry looked at Hermione. “Miss Granger, you are doubtless wondering about the fragile nature of Cambridge men, needing naps at mid-day.”

She laughed at him. “I would take no offense if you wanted to join them, Lord Potter. I can amuse myself, I assure you.”

“Did you wish to join the other ladies in feeding the ducks? I was surprised that Ginny did not ask.”

Hermione laughed again. “She knows better. I was attacked by a goose when I was little – I tend to give birds a wide berth, especially in the spring when they are likely to have young.”

Harry stared. “Attacked by a ….Good lord, were you hurt?”

She shook her head. “No, but it was a near thing. If John hadn’t been there, I think it would not have ended well. 

“We were walking back from the local fishing hole, and a family of geese was crossing the path just ahead of us, with the parents bracketing the goslings. We immediately halted, but the mother was convinced we meant her babies harm. She started hissing, and shuffling her feet, and then all of a sudden she lowered her head and just CHARGED me. I was absolutely terrified, and frozen with fear. John pushed me behind him, and he charged her right back, waving his arms and shouting and stomping his feet.”

“How old were you?”

“I was six, and John was seven. I was convinced she was going to kill John and then peck my eyes out. But while he and the mama goose were challenging one another, the father got all the goslings across the road. He honked, and she finally abandoned the fight to follow them. She was still hissing imprecations over her shoulder though, and giving me the evil eye. It took me a minute to stop shaking after they left, and then we ran all the way home.” 

She shuddered. “I had nightmares about it for a couple of weeks afterward.”

Harry winced. “So no ducks then. Well, I am happy your brother was there.”

She smiled softly. “Yes, John was ever my hero.”

He was conscious of a flood of protectiveness towards her. Before he could analyze it, Derian’s lazy voice intruded. 

“That’s why I avoid the country. Too much unpredictable wildlife!”

Hermione giggled. “I love the country, but I confess the incident left me with a healthy respect for nature and a lasting fear of waterfowl.”

“Less talking. More napping,” mumbled Ned, whose arm still covered his eyes.

Harry stood and looked down the hill. “Hermione, it looks like our friends have all of the ducks gathered nicely in one spot. Would you care to walk with me along the lakeside to that bridge in the opposite direction that overlooks the water? That might allow Sleeping Beauty here to get his doze in.” 

Hermione stood as well, and took his arm. “That sounds lovely.”

As they strolled, each was struck again at how easily the conversation flowed between them. Harry told Hermione about his parents and growing up as an only child. She laughed at the story of the fit he’d thrown in order to keep Alistair, and commiserated over his loss. 

“I love pets, and we always had dogs and cats growing up. The last one died when I was away at school, and then John and Abby thought it might be best to wait until Alex was a bit older before getting another. I’ve been thinking about getting a puppy or a kitten when my family moves. Have you thought about replacing Alistair?”

“I have, but in reality, with me in the City so much of the time, it would hardly be fair to the dog. I do miss living in the country.” He thought again of his mother’s remarks, and wondered what she had in mind. 

“I can understand that.” Hermione leaned on the bridge and looked out over the water. “I am enjoying my time in London, but I cannot imagine living there. I feel so disconnected from my magic, almost like ….” Her voice trailed off.

“Almost like you are living half a life?”

She stared at him. “Yes,” she replied quietly. “Exactly that. How could you know?”

His green eyes looked sorrowful as he said in a low voice, “Because I feel the same, nearly every day.”

She gazed up at him, longing to say something comforting but having no idea what that would be. Without warning, that odd electric surge went through them once more.

_‘It’s as if my magic somehow reaches out to his or his to mine,’_ Hermione thought.

“Hermione, I – “ Harry wasn’t sure exactly what he was going to say, but instinctively felt it was high time they discussed this odd sense of connection. He was interrupted however by Ginny’s voice calling their names from the top of the hill. 

“Everyone’s awake now if you two are ready to go boating!”

There was little chance for private conversation the remainder of the day. Though they remained paired for the boating, the couples’ rowboats stayed in close proximity to one another to better share the experience. 

Hermione pointed out a swarm of butterflies over the water ahead of them. Derian noticed a trio of frogs lined up on a half-submerged log. Harry drew their attention to several deer peering at them through the tree line, and Sophie nearly capsized the boat she and Ned shared when a turtle swimming in the water unexpectedly brushed against the hand she was trailing in it. 

Ginny twirled her parasol and basked in the beauty of the day. As they finally headed back to the dock, Hermione heard her say to Derian, “This has been lovely. Thank you for thinking of it.” And she witnessed Derian gazing back at her friend and saying seriously, “You have been the loveliest thing about it. I am so glad you could come.”

Hermione glanced at Harry to see if he had caught the exchange. From the look on his face, he had. 

He met her eyes and smiled, saying softly. “This _has_ been splendid. And you are lovely to talk to. Thank you.” 

She blushed. “My pleasure. You are very easy to talk to as well, Harry.” 

As they returned the boats and headed back to the carriage, each was very conscious of the other and that unfinished conversation from the bridge.

o o o

Later that night, Hermione slipped into Ginny’s bedroom after her maid had retired. Ginny was already propped up on pillows, clearly waiting for her, and patted the bed beside her. Laughing, Hermione sat down and pulled her legs up, wrapping her arms around her knees.

“The official Listening Posture has been assumed. Tell me everything,” she demanded.

“Whatever is there to tell?” Ginny asked with widened eyes. “We were together the whole day.”

Hermione sent a mock glare in her friend’s direction. “Talk!”

Ginny collapsed into giggles. “Fine! Well, Derian’s perfection has been confirmed.” As Hermione rolled her eyes, Ginny sobered.

“I’m serious, Hermione,” she said. “I’m completely in love with him.”

Hermione’s eyes widened. “Oh, Ginny,” she whispered. “And he?”

A soft smile lit Ginny’s face. “He hasn’t _said_ anything yet, but I think he feels the same.”

Hermione hugged her friend, and then sat back. “Tell me about him.”

Still smiling, Ginny answered. “He just seems to be so perfect for me. He prefers the City to the country, as I do. He foresees an active political career, and I have always wanted to be a Society hostess like Mama is. 

“And he _listens_ to me, Hermione, and we never run out of things to talk about, and we both are close to our families, and we both want children. And he makes me laugh, and I make _him_ laugh, and…” She drew a breath, blushing. “And every time I look at him, I want to kiss him. And when I take his arm or he takes my hand, I feel tingling right down to my toes.”

Her expression became slightly dreamy. “I know it sounds absurd, but it feels like we were made for one another.”

Hermione squeezed Ginny’s hand. “Have you said anything to Ned or your parents?

Ginny shook her head. “Not yet. There really isn’t anything to tell yet, and I wanted to talk to you first. I want your opinion.”

Hermione smiled. “I like him. A lot. I noticed during the carriage ride that he listened to your opinions, but did not hesitate to say so when he did not agree, and I think that is something that would be important to you.”

Ginny nodded emphatically. “Yes! Could you imagine me with a man who could say nothing but ‘Yes, dear’ for the remainder of our lives?”

“No, I couldn’t. I noticed too how kind he was – he worked as hard as Harry and Ned did to make sure Sophie and I felt included today, even though he doesn’t know either of us well – and when he did disagree with you, it wasn’t with that condescending tone or ugly attitude that some people have.” She smiled wickedly. “From the way he kept mooning at you, I think he rather likes the fact that you have opinions.”

Ginny blushed again. “Well, that is a good thing, I suppose, since Lord knows I have a number of them.”

They laughed together, then Ginny said, “Now what about you and Harry?” 

Hermione raised an eyebrow. “There is no ‘me and Harry’, Ginny. You know that. I enjoy his company, and he seems to enjoy mine, but we lead very different lives.” 

She hesitated, then continued. “You want to be a powerful _ton_ hostess, and I could never imagine wanting such a thing. I would not do well living in a world almost completely cut off from my magic.”

Ginny patted her leg. “I know, and I love that you have never tried to talk me out of my own dreams, just because yours are different.”

A bit shocked, Hermione said, “No, I would _never_ ….but while such differences are fine in a friendship, I don’t think they would work well in a romantic relationship.” 

She smiled half-heartedly. “Harry is a peer, which means his future lies here in London. I will go back to Wittbury, and continue to work part time at the potions shop until I complete my Mastery in potions. Then I’ll open my apothecary, and one day the wizard of my dreams will walk through the door and whisk me off my feet.” 

_‘And he will **not**_ _be tall with black hair and green eyes, and it will be FINE,’_ she told herself firmly.

Ginny frowned. “I had the sense I was interrupting something when the two of you were talking on the bridge. Unfortunately, I had already called out by the time I realized it.”

She leaned forward, and seized Hermione’s hand. “You may be right, and I promise I won’t push, but don’t be too quick to write Harry off just yet, Hermione. There are plenty of peers who choose not to take an active role in the workings of Parliament, and some of them rarely leave their estates. I know Harry has always envisioned a political life like the one his father had and the one my father leads, but I’ve never been convinced it would truly make him happy.”

Hermione felt a flicker of hope that she fought to suppress. While Harry had mentioned being unhappy sometimes, that was very far from a declaration renouncing the Muggle world. She opened her mouth to reply, only to be interrupted by Ginny.

“And don’t even think about saying anything about heading home just yet. I need you here right now.”

Hermione knew her friend was telling the truth. Ginny had never particularly waited well – it would be torturous for her to wait to see what Lord Clarkson would do, yet she could hardly declare her own feelings before he did. Having Hermione to talk to would help relieve her anxiety; Hermione knew Abby had similarly counted on her just after John had died, as John had done in the weeks before proposing to Abigail.

“I am not staying forever, Ginevra,” she warned. At Ginny’s anxious look, she relented. “But I will give it another week or two.”

Ginny hugged her fiercely, then kissed her cheek. “Thank you! I am so thankful you’re here, Hermione.”

She returned her friend’s hug. “Of course. Now I’m going to bed, and you should get some sleep.”

Ginny snuggled in to dream of a handsome blonde lord who looked at her like she was the center of his universe, while Hermione went to bed and was haunted by dreams of an attractive black-haired wizard who kept begging her to save him.

o o o

The next morning, during the usual daily Floo call between Lady Potter and Lady Weasley, Margaret said to her friend, “Don’t say anything to anyone yet, Miriam, because nothing is finalized. However, I am thinking I may come to town in the next week or two.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N – That goose story was taken from real life – Mama Goose threatened my very pregnant cousin, who was afraid to run for fear she would fall. I was the person who was yelling and stomping my feet but it was a close call. Give geese a wide berth, people, especially if they are accompanied by goslings. 
> 
> Thanks for reading! Reviews are appreciated.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N – Today is Thanksgiving in the US. It has been a tremendously difficult year for all of us worldwide, but I like to believe there is always something to be thankful for, even if it is just breathing.   
> Please know I am very thankful for all of YOU, readers – this is by far the longest thing I have ever written, and I still find it hard to believe that anyone is following it.

The Weasley household spent a quiet day at home after church on Sunday. Monday brought the usual flurry of calls received and returned, followed by attendance at Lord and Lady Ackerman’s rout. Ned was unable to accompany them, as he, Harry, Derian and another friend had traveled together to attend a race in a nearby town, where Ned was hopeful his new black would show to advantage. 

A rout was a new experience for Hermione. She tried to describe it to her mother in her letter Tuesday morning. 

_‘Imagine, Mama, if we invited everyone we had ever known or hoped to meet to our home, all dressed in their best evening clothing. Of course, our guests would just Apparate in, but the Ackermans’ guests had carriages queued up for miles, it seemed._

_‘The Weasley townhouse is just two streets over from Lord and Lady Ackerman’s, and I assure you we could have arrived much more quickly had we walked, but apparently that would be very bad_ ton _. So Lord Weasley summoned the carriage, and he, Lady Weasley, Ginny and I climbed in, and then we sat in it until the coachman was able to negotiate through traffic to deliver us to our destination. You will hardly credit it, but it took us over thirty minutes to arrive! Luckily, it was a mild evening and the carriage filled with congenial company, but I can only imagine how boring the trip must have been for the poor coachman, who was surely wishing all of us at Jericho!_

_‘Lord and Lady Ackerman, whom I had met before, were all that is gracious in welcoming us to their home. I could hear the music coming from the main room as we waited in line to greet our host and hostess, which surprised me since Ginny had said there would be no dancing._

_‘When we made it into that room, I was in awe at the volume of people. I believe Lord Weasley, who is the kindest man, must have been able to tell I was on the verge of gaping, because he winked at me and whispered that the sad crush of people meant that Lady Ackerman would be able to say with pride that her rout was a resounding success!_

_‘There was a trio of musicians set up in an alcove and a refreshment table with a few tables and chairs in a smaller side room. Card tables were set up in another room, and Lord Weasley abandoned us immediately to head there. There were so many people I could scarcely move! I could not look long at Ginny for fear that she would start giggling uncontrollably at my reaction and I did not want her to incur the ire of her mother. Lady Weasley appeared perfectly comfortable, and escorted us both from group to group, so that we could meet new people or renew acquaintances._

_‘Everyone was very congenial, but the room was terribly hot and I confess I wanted to leave nearly as soon as we arrived. You would have been proud of me though – I nodded and smiled and conversed my way around the room, even though it was difficult to discuss any subject in depth both due to the background noise of music and other conversations and the need to move on shortly to visit with the next group of people._

_‘All of that took less than 90 minutes, and after that, it was time to depart. Lady Weasley summoned a footman, who summoned Lord Weasley from the card room, who summoned the butler to summon the coachman and the carriage. The coachman was parked just across the street, and we easily could have walked over to meet him (or walked home!) but instead we stood in the foyer until we were notified that he had made his way to the front of the house._

_‘Because people were departing at different times, traffic heading back to the Weasley’s house was not quite as bad as it had been on arrival – we were delivered to the door in about 20 minutes. So nearly an hour getting ready and more than an hour of round-trip travel for 90 minutes of socialization. Oddly, I found this excursion much more exhausting than the one to the park last Saturday._

_‘Please share my letter with Abby, and tell her I cannot wait to see you both on Friday. (Is it wrong to say that it is a shame that the ball was not last night with the rout on Friday? I do enjoy dancing! However, not nearly as much as I will enjoy seeing you!) I have enclosed some drawings for Alex, and I hope they make him laugh. Please kiss him for me and tell him he is not allowed to forget his Aunt Hermione.’_

_‘P.S. Despite the limited opportunities for conversation last night, I did get three bouquets of flowers this morning from gentlemen that I met with notes indicating they would call. Ginny got seven!’_

o o o

Ned arrived home mid-afternoon. His horse had not won the race, but he was not displeased with its performance for an initial outing. He confirmed for his mother that Harry would be coming to dinner before heading up to bathe and change.

“I don’t see why he couldn’t invite Derian,” Ginny muttered to Hermione as they strolled in the small garden. “It would have been only courteous, since they were all traveling together.”

Hermione linked arms with her friend. “Yes, but they were traveling with someone else too, were they not? And the issue with Muggle companions is that it meant he had no way to get word to your parents about the possibility of two additional guests – there was no option for a Floo call.”

Ginny made a face. “Well, if you’re going to bring _logic_ into the conversation…” They laughed together.

Heading upstairs later to get ready, Hermione reflected with some amusement on the dread she’d had of seeing Harry again just a week before. Had she really known him for only two weeks and been in London for less than three? It truly did seem like years. She certainly felt no apprehension at seeing him tonight – just pleased contentment at the prospect of seeing someone of whom she had grown fond and with whom she was comfortable. 

_‘And that’s all it is, Hermione, isn’t it? A vague fondness. Such as the kind you would have for Ned’s racehorse, if the two of you had met!’_

She was forced to laugh at herself as she mentally admitted she probably would not be putting _quite_ as much thought into her dinner attire if the racehorse was coming to dine.

o o o

Ginny and Hermione came downstairs to hear Harry and Ned animatedly describing the horse race they had witnessed to Lord and Lady Weasley.

“Ebonian was in it until the very end. The trainer has some ideas to improve endurance, and I think we’re going to have a contender,” Ned was saying.

Hermione gave him a curious look. “You named your horse Ebonian? I don’t think I’ve heard that before.”

Ned grinned at her. “I made it up. ‘Ebony’ sounded a bit too feminine, and I refuse to be the kind of wizard who names his black horse ‘Satan’.”

Harry chimed in with, “The name is ridiculous, but it is better than the one the actual winner had. His name was Hearts and Flowers.” 

Giggles ensued as Harry continued, “Ebonian does have tremendous potential. We thought he might actually win for a bit, but his lack of endurance down the stretch cost him the race. He was neck and neck with the third place finisher, though.”

Ned nodded. “You could tell he did not like it when the other horse pulled alongside him at the end. I think he has a competitive spirit.”

The women exchanged glances. Like most British men in Polite Society, wizards or not, Ned and Harry were a bit horserace mad.

“I am sorry I couldn’t go with you,” Lord Weasley said, “and look forward to seeing him run. It sounds like he was a sound purchase, Ned.”

Ned flushed at his father’s praise. The butler entered to call the group to dinner, and he offered his sister his arm. 

“I suppose you want to know whether Derian asked about you?” he was asking as they followed their parents from the room.

Hermione looked at Harry and smiled. “Please, do not keep me in suspense. Did Derian ask about Ginny?”

“He did, indeed. He is kicking himself a bit for missing the opportunity to ask if he could escort her home from church on Sunday. Apparently the idea occurred to him too late. I expect he will be here in the morning to offer to take her driving in the afternoon.” 

He offered her his arm, then continued. “And I was wondering if perhaps you would be interested in going with me tomorrow?” 

Hermione stopped walking, and bit her lip. “I would have loved to do so, but Mr. Barron called earlier and asked if I would stroll through the park with him. Perhaps the following day?” She blushed furiously as she belatedly realized she should not have proposed an alternate date.

 _‘Who the hell is Mr. Barron?’_ Harry thought furiously. 

“Unfortunately, I have promised Ned I would attend another race with him, and we will be leaving Thursday morning. We will be back in time for the Manderlay ball Friday night though. If I promise faithfully that I will be there, would you be so kind as to save me a dance?” 

Hermione looked chagrined. “Unfortunately, I won’t be there. I will be using Lady Weasley’s Floo while the family is at the ball to visit with my mother and sister-in-law.”

Harry steered her toward the dining room. “Hmmm. We could go driving in the park on Saturday, perhaps?” 

She beamed up at him. “I believe I still have those slowing and cushioning charms at the ready, Lord Potter. I shall look forward to it.”

o o o

It wasn’t as though the Weasley family dinners were typically lacking in good conversation or laughter, Hermione thought, once the ladies adjourned to the parlor and she took her now customary seat at the piano. Somehow though, Harry’s presence made the entire evening sparkle just a bit more. She wasn’t quite sure what it was, she mused as she began to play, but there was definitely something. And that something doubtless had NOTHING to do with the fact that she had a plan to see him again. She was very nearly positive about that.

o o o

As the gentlemen drank their port, Lord Weasley asked the question Harry had been dreading all evening. “How is your speech coming, son?”

Harry could see Ned’s wince of sympathy in the corner of his vision, but his friend remained silent. He met his mentor’s eyes squarely, and said, “To be honest, sir, it hasn’t come far. I seem to be having trouble settling on a topic.” 

He fought the urge to drop his gaze as Lord Weasley studied him in silence for a moment. 

“Harry, I’ve known you since you were in short coats. When you’re committed to something, you’ve never been a procrastinator. If anything, you’ve more often had to be told to slow down rather than having to be coaxed to continue.” 

He took a sip of port, still studying Harry’s face. “There are many peers who choose not to be active in Parliament. There’s no shame in it, if that’s what you think you would prefer.”

Harry flushed. “Sir, I have always thought it would be a great honor to serve our country in that way. You and my father stood together for so many good causes, and time and again were able to persuade the majority to the humane point of view. I have dreamed of working with you in a similar fashion, and of making my father proud of me. I just –“ 

Lord Weasley leaned forward and made a slight motion with his hand, and Harry stopped talking. A nod at his son had Ned standing and exiting the room.

Lord Weasley continued, “Harry, your father _was_ proud of you, and while I am no expert on the hereafter, I am convinced Daniel is _still_ proud of you. And he is going to _be_ proud of you even if you choose to live a life outside of politics.

Harry felt his eyes sting, and abruptly looked away. 

Robert Weasley leaned back in his chair and said conversationally, “Your mother never thought a political career was right for you.”

Startled, Harry’s eyes flew back to his face. 

Robert smiled. “Oh, yes, it’s true. Daniel loved the political arena as much as I do. He could have been a powerful wizard in magical society, Lord knows he had the talent, but he saw more opportunity to enact positive change in our Parliament than in your Wizengamot. 

“He enjoyed his time at Grasmere, but he was proud of the family heritage there, but he had little interest in remaining in the country full time. Here, he was as skilled at the backroom negotiations as he was at the fiery speeches, and each victory or defeat just animated his passion more. I am the same – it is why we were such good friends, despite such disparate backgrounds.

“Margaret, on the other hand, always insisted you were more like her. She is a brilliant hostess, but would have been just as happy to have never come to town. She loves her coven work, her brewing, your estate, your people. And she thought in time you might come to realize you did too.”

He leaned forward again. “Is that the case, son?”

The warmth in his mentor’s eyes told Harry there were no wrong answers here. Why had he thought the man would hate him if he did not proceed with their plan? 

On the other hand, he’d had that plan for much of his life, and his mother had cautioned him to be sure. He needed to give this careful consideration.

A bit shaken, he replied, “Honestly, sir, I am not sure. I need to think this through. I – I really haven’t let myself consider anything different. Just know that whatever my decision, I will not be idle, but will find a way to better any world in which I reside.” He swallowed. “I could do no less. You and my father have left a rather permanent mark on my character, I fear.”

Robert cleared his throat, and clapped Harry on the shoulder. Each then reached for their port glasses with some relief. After a few sips in silence, Robert said gruffly, “Well, it is probably past time for us to join the ladies. You go ahead, son – I’ll be there in just a moment.”

Harry nodded, and stood. Before leaving the room, he clasped his mentor’s shoulder briefly. “Thank you, sir.” 

Harry left the room and Robert tossed back the rest of his glass, then poured another. 

‘ _Well, Daniel_ , _he says he doesn’t know yet, but I think all of our fine plans were for naught. But we knew they might be, and we promised your wife the lad would have a choice.’_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Reviews are appreciated.


	15. Chapter 15

Harry and Ned met for a gallop early Wednesday morning, then adjourned to Harry’s for breakfast where they finalized plans for their trip the following day. 

“I was considering having a few friends over for a few hands of cards and a light supper tonight,” Harry said as Ned prepared to depart. “Nothing too late, since we’re leaving early tomorrow. Any interest?”

Ned shook his head. “I’d love to, but it’s back to Almack’s for me, I’m afraid.”

“Again? I’m starting to think you’re hanging out for a wife.”

Ned gave Harry a hard stare. “Hardly. No, Ginny is hoping to see Clarkson again, and Hermione has finally received approval to waltz. M’father has another commitment, which makes me the designated escort, so off we go.” 

He sighed. “Seriously, you should count your blessings about being an only child. One of the things I am charged with today is tracking down Clarkson and letting it slip that Ginny will be at Almack’s tonight. Why I am put in the middle of this, I could not tell you.”

Harry chuckled. “Well, she cannot exactly send a note round to his lodgings, can she?”

Ned blanched at the thought. “I suppose not. It must be very difficult to be a female, and to have so little control over your own fate.” 

Harry had known Ginny his whole life. He thought to himself that if Fate tried to interfere with her plans, Fate would find itself in a war of wills that it might not win. And if bets were taken, Harry’s money would be on the brassed-off witch.

“Hermione mentioned she loves to dance. I imagine she’s excited about the waltzing?”

“Oh, yes. We’ve been practicing almost since she arrived. She’s gotten quite good.”

Harry frowned. “ _You’ve_ been waltzing with her?”

Ned replied, “Well, it made no sense to hire a dance instructor when the rest of the household already knew how, did it? So yes, I’ve been waltzing with her, Ginny’s been waltzing with her, my father’s been waltzing with her – I believe my mother even had a go at one point. You remember all the practicing we had to do when Ginny was learning.” He shrugged. “Same sort of thing, except Hermione trod on my feet a good bit less than Gin did in the beginning, I can tell you that.”

Harry was still frowning. “It just seems odd that I didn’t know any of that was going on, that’s all.”

His friend stared. “Harry, you don’t know _half_ of what goes on in getting a female up to snuff for Society. And trust me, old lad, you don’t want to. I stay out of it as much as I can, but if you’re really interested in the endless discussions about fashions or hairstyles or which invitations to accept or which gentlemen to discourage, I will gladly tell you. I’ve been dealing with this type of thing since Ginny’s come-out two years ago, but you never seemed that interested.”

Flushing, Harry said, “No, of course not. It’s just that I was recruited to help Ginny practice dancing and I would have been happy to help Hermione, and so I was simply surprised I was not asked.”

Ned let out a snort. “Oh trust me, I offered you up, mate, but was promptly informed by my mother and my sister that I knew nothing about females. They thought you would have made her nervous.”

Seeing his friend look confused, Ned laughed. “Apparently she was hoping to dance with _you_ , Harry, after she knew what she was doing.”

Clapping Harry on the shoulder, Ned headed out _. ‘Well, that’s one item off my To Do list!_ ’ he thought to himself. _‘Ginny will be pleased.’_

Now to call on Clarkson. A brother’s work was seemingly never done.

o o o

Hermione and Ginny were both excited as they descended the staircase into Almack’s Assembly Rooms, trailed by Lady Weasley and Ned. Ned had told his sister that Clarkson would be in attendance, and her eyes were already scanning the room. Hermione knew the instant she located him by the unconscious light that dawned Ginny’s face.

Hermione was not really expecting to see Harry, but was pleased at the prospect of an evening of dancing. She was already engaged for three dances, including the first one. Mr. Barron, who had taken her driving that afternoon, had reserved the first set and another dance after supper, and Ned had reserved a dance as well. 

Her hair had been charmed to within an inch of its life to remain in place, and she knew she looked well in her new amber-colored gown. Her dancing slippers were comfortable and she had cast cushioning charms as additional insurance. She could not wait to waltz, although she knew the waltz was unlikely to be the first dance of the night.

“Good evening, ladies.” Derian had reached them and was bowing over Lady Weasley’s hand. “With your permission, ma’am, I would like to solicit Ginny’s hand for the first dance.” 

Lady Weasley’s assent was interrupted by a smooth baritone at Hermione’s elbow.

“Good evening, all.” Harry had somehow materialized beside them. “Ladies, you all look lovely. Hermione, I understand you have been cleared for the waltz? If I am not too late, perhaps I could reserve the first one? I understand it is to be the supper dance.”

Hermione blushed. “Yes, that would be lovely.” She extended her fan for him to record his selection. “I’ve only danced it in practice so far,” she confessed softly, “but isn’t it the most magical dance imaginable?”

In scrawling his name, Harry saw that the first dance had been reserved by Barron. He had planned to remain in the cardroom until time for the supper dance and then depart, but now on impulse wrote his name down for the last dance of the evening, a quadrille, as well. 

He returned the fan to Hermione, and answered her. 

“I have never found it to be so, but I do enjoy it, and see its potential with the right partner.” 

He then scowled at Ned, who had raised a mocking brow at witnessing his friend’s violation of his own “Never dance with the same woman twice” rule.

The orchestra had finished its tuning and was playing the brief introductory prelude that meant it was time to collect your partner.

“Miss Granger, I believe this is my dance?” Harry turned an assessing eye on the newcomer. He could find nothing to critique in the gentleman’s appearance, though his looks were a bit unprepossessing. Rather plain, really, in Harry’s opinion.

Hermione was blushing again. “It is indeed, Mr. Barron. Shall we?” She and her partner joined Ginny and Derian on the dance floor for the first country dance.

“Who the hell is THAT?” Harry muttered to Ned. 

He was taken aback when Lady Weasley replied, arching an eyebrow in his direction. 

“THAT, my dear, is Stephen Barron. He is the elder son of the Gloucestershire Barrons. Devoted to the country, I understand, and only in town in search of a wife. He appears quite taken with our Hermione, and actually lives within ten miles of her village.”

She adjusted her gloves. “He was a year or two behind you at Cambridge, I believe. No title, of course, but,” she lowered her voice, “about eight thousand pounds a year, I believe.”

Harry glanced at the dance floor. Hermione was flushed with the vigorous nature of the dance, and was laughing at something Barron had said to her as its movements brought them back together again. 

He realized suddenly that he felt a bit murderous. This would not do.

“Cards, Ned?” he said abruptly.

Ned had just observed Sophie Edgecombe in the crowd, and was already feeling hunted. “Yes, please.” 

The men vanished in the direction of the cardroom, while Lady Weasley plied herself with her fan and continued to observe the dancers. 

It was shaping up to be quite a lovely evening.

o o o

Hermione had to remove to the ladies’ retiring room to mutter a quick _“Reparo”_ on the flounce of her gown. It had been sadly ripped when young Lord Westonbury had trod on it during their reel, requiring them to retire from the dance floor. Scarlet with embarrassment, the young peer had stammered profuse apologies despite Hermione’s assurances that she always carried needle and thread with her for emergencies and that she could sew very quickly.

Despite the mishap, she was having a wonderful time. The Almack’s patronesses and Lady Weasley had ensured that she’d had partners for each of the early dances, and many of her partners had flatteringly requested a second set. Her dance card was filled for the remainder of the evening. 

Since the retiring room was empty, she cast a quick _Tempus_ and saw that it was nearly 10:15. The waltz with Harry would start at 10:30, with supper served at 11:00. She could hardly wait.

Renewing the cushioning charms on her slippers, she returned to the ballroom, to promenade with the anxious Lord Westonbury until it was time for the next dance. 

o o o

The chimes sounded in the card room to announce the last dance before supper. 

“Let’s go,” Ned said with a sigh. “You collect Hermione, and I will present myself to Sally Jersey to see who is still in need of a partner.”

Harry was in a considerably lighter mood now that the promised dance was upon him, despite steadily losing at cards for the past several hours. “You can always stay here,” he reminded his friend.

Ned gave him a dry look. “Yes, and I would do exactly that if I wanted to hear my mother’s opinion of my bad manners the entire drive home.”

As they exited the card room, Ned turned toward the Patronesses dais and Harry scanned the dance floor looking for Hermione. Not seeing her, he headed in the direction of Lady Weasley, and found Hermione being delivered there by an obviously flustered young Westonbury, who nodded jerkily when she thanked him for the dance, turned bright red and appeared to almost run away.

An amused Lady Weasley enlightened Harry. “Poor Orville trod on Hermione’s gown while they were dancing. I do not believe he’s quite recovered.”

Harry winced in sympathy. “I remember doing that with Ginevra once. My ears are still ringing!”

As the chimes warned that the waltz was about to start, he led Hermione to the dance floor. 

“I trust Lord Westonbury didn’t inflict too much damage?”

She dimpled at him. “Well, he _did_ , truth be told, but I repaired it in a trice. I assured him it was fine, but he felt terrible. Did Ginny really read you a scold?”

They both glanced over to where Ginny was once again partnered with Lord Clarkson. “Oh, she did, and a thundering one it was too. But I think it was chiefly because I stepped on her gown while smiling at another lady at the time.”

He grinned at an oblivious Ginny and Derian, who smiled back a bit uncertainly. Hermione choked with laughter as the opening notes of the waltz sounded.

“I hope you won’t do that to me,” she said smiling, as Harry’s hand clasped her waist and moved her closer. “I’m a bit nervous, you see. I’ve only just learned to waltz, and the least disruption to my concentration could prove ruinous for both of us.”

Harry’s eyes were focused on her face. “You’ll do fine,” he said softly. “I have it on very good authority that this dance is magic.”

And suddenly they were waltzing and it was as if they had danced together for years. Hermione found she had no need to recall the steps – a relief, since Ned had told her sternly that no gentleman wanted a partner who continually murmured “ONE, two, three” under her breath – or look at her feet. She kept her eyes on Harry’s face and found her feet somehow knew just where to go. 

A few minutes later, he twirled them without warning. Twirling was a variation on the standard waltz steps that the Weasleys had told her some partners enjoyed, and she had secretly hoped all of her partners would. Her body instinctively responded to the unexpected movement now, and she laughed with the joy of it. Harry grinned down at her. 

“You may blame Ginevra,” he said in her ear, sending a shiver down her spine. “She always claimed twirling was the best part of waltzing.”

“I wholeheartedly agree,” Hermione said so fervently that Harry twirled them again as he smiled down into her eyes.

The odd current they had occasionally felt since almost their first meeting was jolting now in its intensity, but somehow did not distract them from the movements of the dance. 

“What _is_ that?” Harry murmured.

Hermione could only shake her head. “I don’t know.”

After a few seconds, something compelled her to continue, “But I never felt it before I met you.”

The intensity of his emerald gaze left her with a feeling of breathlessness and euphoria at the same time. She was conscious of his arm around her waist and the warmth of his other hand through her glove, and was startled at the _rightness_ of it all. 

He seemed to be holding her at the correct distance, yet somehow his body felt closer than that of Ned or Lord Weasley in those practice sessions. Far from needing to concentrate on her feet, she was no longer sure she _had_ feet, and wondered briefly if she had perhaps overdone the cushioning charms and was somehow now literally dancing on air. 

She couldn’t be bothered to check though, as checking would have meant looking down, and looking down would have meant looking away from Harry’s eyes. Looking away from Harry’s eyes meant missing him looking at her so intently, and that really did not bear thinking about.

They moved around the ballroom floor as if they were in a world of their own, the thirty minutes passing so quickly that the music stopping came as almost a shock. Belatedly, Hermione realized she’d meant to use the opportunity to observe Ginny and Derian together, and to see who Ned was partnering. Somehow, she had forgotten there were other couples on the dance floor, but looking around now, she could see that it was actually quite crowded.

They joined those couples now in applauding the orchestra, then Harry offered his arm to escort her to supper. She took it and they left the ballroom floor, yet Hermione felt she would see it again and again in every happy dream she had from this point forward.

 _‘It’s just a dance, Hermione,’_ she told herself. _‘It’s not even the last dance of the evening.’_

She could not deny the jolt of pleasure she felt when she remembered that last dance would also be with Harry.

o o o

Almack’s did not encourage its subscribers to come for the food. “Supper” consisted of thin bread slices slathered with butter and cake without frosting. No alcohol was served other than ratafia and orgeat. Hermione was always a bit shocked at the parse repast, given the Assembly Rooms’ not insubstantial subscription price of ten guineas per year.

Unlike most private ballrooms, there were no tables for two. The smallest tables sat four, with these tables placed around the circumference of the room. Most attendees sat at the long rectangular tables in the center of the room, or ate standing.

As their dance had ended when they were right outside the supper room, Harry and Hermione were one of the first couples to enter. Harry escorted Hermione to one of the smaller tables, before going to fill plates for them. He returned swiftly, followed by a servant carrying cups of lemonade for them both.

“You may want to take sparing sips of that lemonade,” Harry cautioned, once the servant had departed. “They don’t overdo the sugar in its preparation.”

She smiled at him. “I seem to recall that from last time. Still, I prefer even sour lemonade to ratafia or orgeat.”

“And who wouldn’t?” Harry shuddered theatrically. “Almond flavored alcohol, of all things!”

He sobered. “I very much enjoyed our dance, Hermione. You waltz beautifully.”

She colored. “I am sure that was due to your lead, sir. I enjoyed it as well.” _‘And could happily have waltzed with you the entire night,’_ she thought to herself.

Hesitantly, she added, “So this … surge that occurs sometimes between us – have you any experience with anything similar?”

Before Harry could respond, Derian and Ginny joined them. Hermione had to smile at the dreamy look on Ginny’s face, fairly certain that her own face had held a similar expression on exiting the dance floor.

“So how was your waltz, Hermione? Did Harry step on your feet at all?” asked Ginny with a smirk in Harry’s direction after Derian had excused himself to assemble their plates.

“He did not,” Hermione replied with a blush. “And I believe I stayed off his as well, which you should regard as a credit to your family’s instruction.” 

She tapped Ginny’s slipper under the table with her own to get her attention. Always quick-witted, Ginny realized almost immediately that Hermione wanted another moment or two of privacy with Harry.

“Pray excuse me,” Ginny said, rising gracefully. “I think I’d better warn Derian to get me extra bread and butter, or he will be risking me consuming all of his!” Eyes twinkling, she left them.

“You were saying, my lord?” Hermione raised an eyebrow at Harry.

He did not pretend to misunderstand her. Indeed, the intent expression on his face rivaled the one she had seen during their dance. 

“No, never,” he replied softly. “But it feels somehow almost as if my magic recognizes yours. Does it feel that way to you?”

“It does,” she responded just as softly, then met his gaze. “It isn’t…unpleasant.”

He smiled back at her. “No, I agree.”

Further conversation had to be postponed as Derian and Ginny returned to the table carrying plates and lemonade. During the general conversation which followed, Hermione remained very conscious of Harry seated next to her and the periodic glances he aimed in her direction. 

All too soon, the chimes sounded to announce the end the dinner break. Derian and Harry returned their partners to the protection of Lady Weasley, bowing over their hands, and reminding the ladies that they were engaged again for the final dance of the evening. 

“You’re staying the entire evening, Harry?” Lady Weasley raised an eyebrow.

He flushed. “It happens on occasion,” he replied, though in fact it never had. Spying Ned across the room, he excused himself and fled to collect his friend for another round of cards.

“Lord Clarkson, are you engaged for the next set?” Lady Weasley asked. Ginny, on the verge of departing with her new dance partner, threw a worried look over her shoulder.

“I am not, my lady. How may I be of service to you?” Clarkson asked, bowing.

Hermione’s own partner had appeared; as they were departing for the dance floor, she heard Lady Weasley reply, “I was wondering if perhaps you would be willing to escort me onto the balcony, sir. I find this room to be stifling with its new gas heat, and would be happy of a brief respite. I had planned to ask Ned, but – “

“Say no more, my lady. It would be my honor,” Derian replied, as he led her out.

On the dance floor, waiting for the orchestra to start, Hermione and Ginny exchanged glances.

o o o

There were no additional waltzes played that evening, which Hermione thought was probably a good thing, as she could not imagine a partner who could perform it as well as Harry. The rest of the evening passed in a bit of a pleasurable blur, and by the time Harry collected her again for the final quadrille, it was nearly 2:30 am.

“I do not need to ask if you have enjoyed yourself,” he said as they waited on the music to start. “You are glowing.”

She smiled. “I do love dancing, but I confess that sleeping in tomorrow sounds lovely as well!”

“Would that I could! Ned and I are planning to be on the road by 8:30.”

“I had forgotten that you were traveling! Oh, you should have said something – we can forego this dance.” She turned as if to leave the dance floor just as the music began.

Harry caught her wrist and moved her into position. “Hermione. I stayed because I wanted to dance with you again.”

She blushed and the dance began. There was no chance for serious conversation as the dance movements regularly separated them. 

Hermione had always loved the grace and elegance of the quadrille and the varied partners it engaged. She loved it still, but now she could not help but compare each one with Harry’s dancing style.

When the music ended, she could not in good conscience think of delaying him further upon learning that Ned had departed some two hours earlier. They said their goodbyes as he returned her to Lady Weasley and he left immediately afterward.

On the way home in the carriage, the girls remained largely silent in deference to Lady Weasley’s soft snores. 

“Harry was right, Hermione,” Ginny whispered softly, looking out the window dreamily. “I have waltzed dozens of times before, but when you are with the right partner, it is all that is magical.”

Hermione could only nod in agreement. She couldn’t agree more.


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione sees her family, and gets some information about those odd surges. And Harry learns of his mother's upcoming visit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I usually post new chapters on Thursday nights or Friday mornings, but work this week precluded that. Next week's update may need to get pushed til the weekend as well. My apologies!

Hermione and Ginny were both excited for Friday night – Hermione because she would finally get to see her family; Ginny because she knew Derian would be at the Manderlay ball and because he had already arranged to waltz with her in the dance before supper.

“Are you _sure_ you don’t want to come? I’m fairly certain Harry will be there. And Lady Manderlay has promised there will be at least two waltzes tonight.”

Hermione admitted to herself that she was tempted. She had relived her waltz with Harry countless times the past two days.

“I really cannot. Abby and Mama would be so disappointed, and I am anxious to see them as well.”

After the Weasley family departed, Hermione ate a light dinner in her room and then read until Sarah came to escort her to Lady Weasley’s Floo. 

“The Grange,” she said, tossing a handful of Floo powder into the fireplace then stepping into the green flames. Moments later, she was simultaneously trying to cast a cleaning spell to remove the soot from her skirt while hugging both her mother and her sister-in-law. Giving up on the skirt, she hugged them the harder. It had only been a few short weeks, but it felt much longer.

Laughing a bit, they finally released one another and sat down, with Hermione on the sofa with her mother tightly clasping her hand, and Abby seated in an adjacent chair. After quick glances all around, they each said pretty much simultaneously, “All right, tell me everything!” 

After more laughter, and a summoning of the tea tray, each tried her best to do so.

o o o

Several hours later, Abby and Elizabeth Granger had obtained most details of Hermione’s time in London and were drawing their own conclusions.

“So you’re fairly certain you wouldn’t be happy living in London?” her mother asked slowly.

Somewhat regretfully, Hermione shook her head. “I really don’t think I could be. I feel too cut off from the magical world, and there are just far too many people along with far too little privacy.” 

She hesitated. “I am still enjoying myself, but right now I am still meeting new people and having new experiences. It’s been good for me, I think, in the same way that going to St. Anne’s was good for me. I have a bit more confidence in myself, and feel a bit less socially awkward. Everyone has been terribly kind, and I have gotten to dance more than I have in, well, ever.” 

She smiled, and then said pensively, “ _THAT_ part has been grand, but I need for my life to be about more than routs and balls and sight-seeing. Even when I was planning to marry William, I always thought I’d get my Mastery in Potions and then do something with it – help one of the local apothecaries expand, or brew items at home or even open my own shop. I like brewing and growing and collecting ingredients, and I miss all of that. I could never do any of it in London as a member of Polite Society.” 

Her mother’s brow furrowed. “I confess I had hoped you would fall in love there, even if it meant you would need to move away. I know you want to be married, Hermione, and I also know that Wittbury doesn’t offer many options for you. I wish you would reconsider and come to Bibury with us.”

Hermione shook her head. They’d already discussed that. Plans for the move were well underway and her family would probably relocate shortly after the first of the year. “I am not ruling it out for always, Mama, but I don’t think that is something I want to do any time soon.”

Elizabeth didn’t want to abandon hope that the London trip would bring her daughter happiness. “But you like this Mr. Barron?”

Hermione smiled slightly. “I do like him, quite well actually. He is a very good dancer, and I enjoyed our drive in the park. He doesn’t particularly care for the City either, and has been candid that he is hoping to find a wife this trip so that he won’t have to return next Spring.” 

She threw up a staying hand when her mother’s face lit up. “But I have been equally candid with him that I am not she. I am trying to encourage him to pursue Sophie Edgecombe.”

Abby leaned forward. “I thought Sophie was in love with Ned Weasley?” Her eyes sparkled. “This is better than a novel!” 

Hermione giggled. “Sophie is quite infatuated with Ned, but he does not reciprocate her interest at all, and it does not go beyond a girlish infatuation with her, I don’t think. She is too dazzled with Ned to have noticed Mr. Barron, but I do think they would suit. I hope I’ve persuaded Mr. Barron to give her a chance, but I’m not certain.”

“And why are you ruling him out for yourself, daughter?”

Hesitating again, Hermione finally said, “He is very kind, but there’s just no….spark. And I don’t believe I could truly be happy living in the Muggle world long term.”

“Speaking of sparks,” Abby said, “I want to hear more about this connection you feel with Lord Potter.”

Elizabeth Granger looked at her daughter inquiringly. “Connection?”

Hermione had not actually mentioned that in her letters to her mother, and she thought she had mentioned this in her letters to Abby. She glanced at her sister-in-law, and saw the color rising in cheeks. Apparently, Abby had just recalled that fact as well.

“I wouldn’t call it a connection, exactly….”

Raising an eyebrow, Elizabeth turned to Abby. “What did you mean, Abigail?”

Abby was looking decidedly guilty, and was studying the hands in her lap, unable to meet Elizabeth’s gaze. The silence drew out while Elizabeth awaited an answer, and Abby finally cast a pleading glance at Hermione. Knowing how persistent her mother could be, Hermione gave up, and nodded slightly at her sister-in-law.

Abby faltered, “Hermione mentioned in passing that it felt like her magic sparked in recognition of his?” 

She looked at Hermione for confirmation and got another nod. “Some type of instinctive surge, I think you wrote. I’m sorry I mentioned it, Hermione. I just thought it was terribly romantic sounding.” 

Abby looked miserable, so Hermione used her wand to pour Abby another cup of tea to let her know she was forgiven. She was thanked with a grateful smile.

Elizabeth was frowning, and shook her head at the offer of more tea. “When did this happen?”

Hermione reluctantly replied, “It’s happened several times, actually.”

“Have you mentioned it to him?”

More hesitancy. It seemed odd to be discussing what suddenly felt like something very private.

“Hermione?” She’d last heard that tone in her mother’s voice when she was six. John had done something to annoy her, and a burst of accidental magic on her part had removed his eyebrows. She’d at first tried to deny any knowledge of what had happened, but her mother had said her name in just that same way, and she knew she’d have no luck with evasions or prevarications. She had that same feeling now, and the intent expression on her mother’s face confirmed it.

She sighed. “He feels it too.” Surprised murmurings arose from both other women. “I wasn’t sure he did at first, I’m not sure he _did_ feel it the first time – “

“Which was when?”

Hermione gave her mother a surprised look - it was not like her to interrupt – but she answered honestly. “The first time we met. We got along famously – you know how I can be a bit shy around people I don’t know? It was not like that with Harry at all. We were seated next to each other at dinner, and it just felt very natural to talk to him, right from the beginning. Then as the women were leaving the dining room so the men could have their port, he stood to pull back my chair, and our eyes met and I felt – well, it’s very difficult to describe, but it did feel like an instinctive reaction of some sort. He did not seem aware of it, and I did not feel it again later even though we spoke again later that evening after the men joined us in the parlor.”

“But you’ve felt it since, and he has now felt it too?”

“Yes. When I saw him the second time, he owed me an apology as you know. I had been quite dreading seeing him again, to be honest.” 

She glanced at Abby, who responded with a slight shake of her head. She hadn’t shared the actual letter. 

“He apologized, and I was …. assessing him, trying to determine whether he was being sincere. I was staring at his face, trying to read it, and his eyes met mine. I felt it again, and from his expression, there was no question that he felt it as well. We didn’t actually discuss it though. He did ask about it, but I made an excuse and walked away.” She remembered her near run to Ginny with a flash of embarrassment.

Her mother took her hand again gently. “So just twice? And this was when you first met?”

Hermione bit her lip. “Well, no. I mean, yes, when we first met, but not just the two times. It isn’t _every_ time we see one another, but it has happened a few times.” 

Her mother appeared to be waiting for more, so she continued despite the increasing reluctance. “Most recently, Wednesday night when we were waltzing. The feeling was, I don’t know, more _intense_ that time.” 

She sighed a bit wistfully at the memory of that waltz. “But the entire dance felt magical, so that probably had something to do with it. We did talk a bit about it afterward, and confirmed it was a new sensation for both of us.”

She belatedly realized that her mother looked very serious. She was still holding Hermione’s hand, but had clearly forgotten she was doing so, all of her focus inward. 

Hermione was conscious of a slight chill, and exchanged a worried glance with Abby. “Mama?”

Elizabeth came back to herself, and squeezed her daughter’s hand reassuringly, even as she asked another question. “You never felt anything like it with William?”

Despite everything, Hermione felt as if she was somehow betraying the love she’d had for William in denying it, but she had to tell the truth. “No. I loved William, I was happy when we were together, but there were no odd surges of magic. I don’t think he felt them either; I feel certain he would have told me if he had.”

Not entirely sure she wanted to know the answer, she softly asked, “Have you heard of something like this before? Does it have some significance?”

Across from her, Abby’s blue eyes were as big as saucers. Staring at Elizabeth, Abby whispered, “Oh, sweet Circe. You think they’re soulmates, don’t you?”

o o o

Harry felt restless. He’d accepted his invitation to the Manderlay’s annual ball, an event he’d always enjoyed in the past, but somehow after learning Hermione was unable to attend, his usual anticipation had ebbed.

Lord and Lady Manderlay were longtime friend of both his parents and the Weasleys though, so he did his duty by dancing with a variety of partners instead of hiding in the card room the whole night. He enjoyed dancing, but privately reflected that the debutantes seemed to get more vapid with every passing year. 

He did not solicit a partner for the waltz. Somehow it just felt too soon to have that particular memory sullied.

He spent that time instead chatting with his host and hostess, Lord Manderlay’s flare-up of gout limiting his own ability to dance. 

“I told her she could dance waltz with someone else,” Lord Manderlay said, after seeing Harry notice his wife’s wistful glance at the dance floor, “but she wouldn’t hear of it.”

Lady Manderlay smiled at him affectionately. “Other dances, yes, my darling. But not the waltz. It would feel terribly wrong to dance it with anyone but you.”

Lord Manderlay harumphed in response, but Harry did not miss the tender looks exchanged between them. 

“We saw you waltzing with Miss Granger the other night, Harry. You make a striking couple. I was sorry to hear of her headache this evening.” Harry knew it was the dearest wish of all of his parents’ friends to see him settled.

“It was her first time waltzing, and she was concerned she would make a mistake,” he returned, “but I thought she did rather well.” He honestly could not recall another couple on the floor. All of his attention had been focused on her. And that odd surge that sometimes happened between the two of them had happened again, in a way that should have been frightening in its intensity, yet somehow wasn’t….

With an effort, he wrenched his memory away from that dance, and focused again on his hostess. “Have you heard from my mother lately, Lady Manderlay?”

It was clear from her ladyship’s expression that she’d noticed the subject change, but she obligingly answered. “I had a letter from her just this morning, actually. I was thrilled to read that she’ll be joining us in town soon.”

Harry was startled, though his expression betrayed nothing. His mother had not mentioned this to him, and he wondered why. 

“It will be good to see her at Potter House again.” As far as Polite Society knew, his trips home to Grasmere were rare and his mother rarely came to town since his father died. 

The last notes of the waltz sounded, and the chimes rang to announce supper. Lord and Lady Waverly excused themselves and Harry followed them toward the supper room. His mother’s plans might be a surprise to him, but it would surprise him more if Miriam Weasley knew nothing of them.

As he scanned the room for Lord and Lady Weasley, he was pleased to see Mr. Barron escorting Sophie Edgecombe to a nearby table. The man was far too boring for Hermione, he’d decided. Perhaps Sophie could be happy with him instead of mooning over Ned. That would certainly make Ned happy.

He finally spotted Lord and Lady Weasley at a table for four along the back wall. He was halfway to their table when he realized that Derian and Ginny were seated with them. 

“Oho,” he whispered to himself, “job interview underway.” He tried to pivot, but his friends had spotted him.

“Harry!” Ginny hailed him. “Are you alone? Pull up a chair and join us!” If there was a tinge of desperate relief in her tone, Harry was kind enough to pretend not to notice it.

He hesitated, but Lord and Lady Weasley nodded. Derian had already jumped to his feet to find Harry a chair. 

“I’m glad you’re here, actually,” said Ginny, ignoring the wry look he threw her way. “Derian and I were talking during our dance, and I realized poor Hermione never did get to see the Tower of London.” 

Harry nearly snorted at this absolute balderdash. He’d caught a glimpse of Ginny and Derian during their waltz, and there had been no conversation going on there. They’d been staring at each other like –

 _‘Like you were staring at Hermione just a few nights ago?’_ He jerked his mind away from _that_ topic and refocused on the conversation.

“Anyway,” Ginny continued, “we were thinking of perhaps going on Wednesday, but Ned has another wretched race out of town, so I was wondering if you would like to accompany us?”

He readily agreed, and turned to her parents. “Lady Manderlay just mentioned that my mother is heading to town soon?”

Miriam’s brown eyes widened in a display of innocence. “You don’t say? How pleasant it will be to see Margaret again. You must bring her round for a visit once she’s settled at Potter House.” 

“Yes, of course,” he responded. “I don’t suppose you’d know when that would be?”

“I, Harry? I am sure Margaret would confide her plans in you before me.” Really, the expression on the woman’s face could only be described as rather gleefully evil. 

Harry exchanged glances with Lord Weasley, whose eyes were filled with mirth. Clearly, Harry wasn’t the only one who’d heard the silent _“if she wanted you to know”_ at the end of the response.

A bit frustrated, but mostly amused, Harry thanked her, and went to obtain a plate of food from the buffet while Ginny’s parents resumed continued their gentle interrogation of Lord Clarkson. He’d consider Flooing his mother later, but knew from experience that if she did not want him to know something, he’d get nowhere. She and Miriam Weasley were very alike in that regard, which probably explained the success of their long friendship, but it was a quality their children had been given frequent opportunity to lament.

Returning to the group with his meal, he proceeded to share several reminiscent stories that cast Derian in a positive light. He and Ginny were clearly head over ears for one another, so Harry was pleased to help them if he could. 

All the while, however, he was mentally calculating how much longer he’d have to remain at the ball before he could politely leave. The whole evening just felt sadly flat.

o o o

Hermione stared at Abby. “ _Soulmates?_ Abby, that’s just an old wives tale!”

Elizabeth shook her head. “No, it isn’t. It’s rare now, with magicals scattered all over the place, but it used to be a good bit more common. My grandparents were soulmates.”

“As were my great-aunt and uncle,” Abby astonished Hermione by saying. “I’ve heard it isn’t unusual for it to skip a generation or two.”

Elizabeth was nodding. “Or more. My grandmother said that her great-grandparents were soulmates, but she did not know of many others.” 

Hermione stared. How could she not have known this? 

“Well, think about it, daughter. My grandparents died when you were just two, you don’t remember them, and it was hardly something we talked about. While I loved your father dearly, and he me, we weren’t soulmates. I was always thankful for it – my own mother had a very unhappy marriage, and I think it was in large part due to the fact that she wanted what her parents had and could never find it.”

“You were happy you and Father weren’t soulmates?” Hermione’s heart ached on her father’s behalf. 

Elizabeth reached out to cup Hermione’s face. “That doesn’t mean we were not in love, darling. We were, and deeply. Most happy couples are not soulmates, and there have been some deeply unhappy ones that were. 

“The legends love to romanticize the concept, but couples are considered to be soulmates when they each possess a fragment of a prior soul. How Mother Magic decides these things, no one knows, but according to our lore, sometimes pieces of a soul are reborn and scattered after the initial owner dies. When the world was smaller, and there were fewer magical communities, the new owners of those pieces found each other again a bit more frequently than they do today. It is said your magic will recognize your soulmate before your mind and body are even conscious of an attraction, and my grandmother described the connection just as you did – an instinctive surge of one person’s magic toward another’s.”

She bit her lip, then continued. “Sometimes one party recognizes the connection, but the other does not or denies it. Those are the worst cases, because while couples can be genuinely happy without a soulmate connection, I am not sure how successful other relationships would be if your soul has already recognized its match.” She shuddered. “I cannot bear to think about what could have happened if you had already married William, and then met Harry.”

Hermione frowned. Her mother had ever had a bit of a flare for the dramatic. If she’d married William as planned, it was unlikely she would have gone to London, so it seemed to her to be a moot point. And that was assuming Harry was actually her soulmate, which she was not entirely sure she believed. She looked over at Abby, mutely asking for her opinion.

Abby rose and hugged her, then returned to her seat. “I don’t think if you’d met Harry after you and William were married you would have spent your life pining for him. You might have noticed the surge initially, and thought it odd, but then you would have come home and lived your life and forgotten all about it.” 

She gave Hermione a reassuring look. “As your mother said, most happy couples are not soulmates, and I think it is a common misconception that soulmates automatically live happily ever after without friction. My great-aunt and uncle loved one another dearly, but they were complete opposites in many ways. Both were intensely stubborn with fierce tempers, and as small children, we all learned we did not want to be in the room when they were quarreling because the hexes would be flying.”

She hesitated, then continued. “There are some things you probably need to know. If Harry is your soulmate, the bond you feel with him will strengthen if you continue to spend time with one another. Since you have not known one another long and you are not joined,” she blushed, “I think it will dissipate with time if you are no longer in one another’s company.” 

She met Hermione’s gaze squarely. “If you do join, over time, your life forces will become dependent on one another. Should something happen to one of you, it is likely the other would not live for very long. My great-aunt died within 24 hours of my great-uncle.”

Hermione turned to her mother with a horrified look, only to see Elizabeth nodding. “That is true. My grandmother was killed when she was struck by lightning when you were small. My grandfather died in his sleep just three days later.”

The grandfather clock in the hall let out a long “BONG!”, signaling that it was 1 am. Hermione stood. “I-I have to go. The Weasleys will be home soon.” 

Elizabeth and Abby rose as well, and once again the women stood in a three way embrace. “I am sure this must feel overwhelming, daughter,” Elizabeth said softly, kissing Hermione’s cheek. “Try not to worry.”

Hermione nodded mutely, gave Abby a final hug, and departed.

o o o

Hermione was in bed but still awake when she heard the Weasleys arrive home an hour later. Some time afterwards, she heard her bedroom door open quietly as Ginny peeked in. “Hermione?” came the whisper from her friend.

She pretended to be asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Reviews are appreciated.


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Ginny learns that Harry might be Hermione's soulmate, Hermione learns that she's in love with Harry, Harry learns he wants to leave Polite Society, and we all learn that Derian is about to propose and that Lady Potter is expected Any Minute.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N – A gentle warning: This story completely disregards the Potter Family History published by JKR on Pottermore in 2015. Sorry, Fleamont.
> 
> In other news, if you are interested in reading a post-war holiday story about canon Harry and Hermione, I have written a tale called A Harmonious Christmas as part of the Harmony Advent 2020 Collection. You can find it on AO3 by searching for the collection name or looking for it on my author page. There are lots of good stories in the collection, with a new one being released each day through Christmas Day, so if you are looking for your holiday spirit or are already in it, you may want to check them out.

Hermione went downstairs for breakfast a bit later than usual on Saturday morning. She’d been unable to sleep for hours after returning from her visit home, finally falling into a troubled slumber sometime after 4 am.

  
As she made her way to the breakfast room, she was surprised to see the closed door to Lord Weasley’s study open, and Ginny exit with Lady Weasley.

  
Miriam bade a warm good morning to Hermione, and continued upstairs. Ginny grabbed Hermione’s arm and walked with her, whispering, “They think Derian is going to propose, and wanted to know how I felt about it!”

  
Hermione’s eyes widened. Biting her lip, she considered as servants bustled around the breakfast room. It was clear they’d have no privacy here, but she rather wanted her breakfast and was in desperate need of tea.

  
In the end, she grabbed a piece of toast, a couple of rashers of bacon and an apple, and looked at her friend. “Rose garden?”

  
Ginny nodded. “I’ll carry your tea.”

  
Hermione gave her a grateful glance. She really wished she’d gotten more sleep. The caffeinated substance felt absolutely necessary this morning. “Has everyone else eaten? Perhaps we could take the pot?”

  
Nodding again, and waving off the servant who offered to bring the tea out on a tray, Ginny instructed Hermione to snag a couple of teacups. She deftly salted a couple of hard-boiled eggs, wrapped them in a napkin, then slid the packet into one pocket of her day gown. She dropped a few sugar cubes and a spoon into the other pocket, then hoisted the teapot, wrapped in a tea towel to protect her hands. “After you.”

  
The maid opened the French doors to the garden for them, and giggling like schoolgirls, the friends made their way to their usual spot in the gazebo where they sank onto the bench and spread out their plunder.

  
Ginny was still laughing. “I know you prefer your tea with cream, but I couldn’t quite figure out how we were going to manage that!”

  
Hermione had already added sugar and was taking her first blissful sip of the strong tea, willing it to go straight into her bloodstream. “It’s fine,” she replied, reaching for an egg. “Well done on thinking of the egg, by the way.”

  
Glancing around to ensure no one was about, she murmured a spell that sent slices of egg across her piece of toast, where they were topped with bits of bacon. Folding the toast in half, she motioned at Ginny before taking a bite. “Go on, tell me everything!”

  
Shivering slightly in the cool morning air, Ginny cast warming charms on both of them before explaining how her parents had commandeered the two to join them for supper last night, where they had alternated between grilling Derian in a polite way and closely scrutinizing his interactions with Ginny.

  
“Apparently he and Papa spoke a bit more once Mama and I returned to the ballroom. I’m not sure exactly what was said, but after breakfast, they asked me to step into the study and Papa asked me what I would like his response to me if Derian were to offer for me.” Ginny was all but vibrating with excitement. “Of course, I said it would be yes. Then we had to talk about what to tell him about us.”

  
Hermione had wondered if there was a plan there, but had felt it rude to ask. She should have known Miriam Weasley would have this well in hand. “What was the decision?”

  
“That once Derian proposes, they will give me some privacy to tell him I’m a witch.” She bit her lip. “If it appears this changes anything for him, I will Obliviate him and decline the proposal. I guess it’s lucky that Obliviate is one of the spells I am really good at.”

  
Hermione impulsively clasped her friend’s hand at the look of distress on her face. “I don’t think that will happen, Ginevra. Derian loves you. But are you sure this is what you want?”

Ginny squeezed Hermione’s hand in return, her eyes filling with tears. “Yes,” she whispered. “I am so very certain, but I am almost afraid to hope.”

  
The friends sipped their tea in silence for a few minutes. Shaking off her worries, Ginny brightened. “You were asleep when I came in last night. Tell me all about the visit with your family!”

  
As she filled her friend in on the family news, Hermione tried to make up her mind whether she wanted to share her mother’s theory about Harry perhaps being her soulmate. In the end, she decided she would keep that to herself for the moment.

  
“How was the ball?” she asked when she had finished her update on events in Wittbury. She bit into her apple and raised an eyebrow at Ginny, who was blushing, clearly recalling her waltz with Derian the night before.

  
“It was really lovely. Lord and Lady Manderlay always put on one of the best events of the Season, I believe.” She raised her own eyebrow in return, casting a knowing look at Hermione. “Now do you want to know how many shrimp puffs I ate, or do you want to know if I saw Harry?”

  
It was Hermione’s turn to blush, though she recovered quickly. Widening her eyes at her friend, she said, “There were shrimp puffs?”

  
Ginny giggled. “There were, and those puffs looked very dashing, I assure you, although I think they were a bit cast down that you weren’t there. Oh, but we have it all arranged – Harry and Derian and I are taking you to the Tower on Wednesday, assuming it doesn’t rain again. Maybe we can go to Gunter’s afterward.”

  
Brown eyes narrowed. “And whose idea was this?”

  
Sighing, Ginny confessed, “Well, it was mine, but it wasn’t like he wanted to say no! You can ask him about it, if you’d like. Isn’t he taking you driving in the park this afternoon?”

  
_‘Oh, sweet Mercy,’_ Hermione thought. She’d forgotten all about that. She bit her lip. Should she say something about her mother’s theory?

  
Noticing the conflicted look on her friend’s face, Ginny said softly, “You’ve fallen for him, haven’t you?”

  
Making a sudden decision, Hermione smiled slightly. “Pour another cup of tea for us, Ginny. I have a lot to tell you.”

  
o o o

  
The teapot was empty, the warming charms had been renewed, and Ginny was staring at Hermione with her mouth open in a most unladylike way. “Soulmates?” she finally squeaked. “I thought those were an old wives’ tale.”

  
“As did I,” said Hermione, a trifle grimly. “Mind you, I’m not sure my mother is right about Harry and me, but it is rather horrid thinking that if he were to be thrown off his horse and killed the way my brother was, he could take me with him.”

  
Ginny made an impatient gesture. “That’s hardly likely to happen, and is not worth worrying about. The question is how do you feel about him? About him, the man and him, the wizard – not him, the potential soulmate.”

  
Trust Ginny to make her consider the very question she’d been trying to avoid answering, even to herself. Hermione studied her hands for a moment, unwilling to meet her friend’s gaze.

  
“I like him,” she said finally. “I like him a great deal. I could fall for him quite hard, I think.”

  
She raised her eyes to meet Ginny’s. “But if his life is here,” she said, indicating the City around them, “then I will go home and just hope very hard that Abby is correct in thinking that we are early enough in the bonding process for the connection to go away.”

  
Even as she said it, her heart sank a bit at the thought. She realized she was more than half in love with Lord Potter. _‘Only half?’_ her treacherous brain questioned. But she couldn’t be in love with Harry, could she? Less than eight months ago, she had practically been engaged to another man, and she had loved William dearly. It had broken her heart when he had ended things between them.

  
She was startled to realize she could not quite pull William’s face into focus in her mind’s eye now. She closed her eyes for a moment and tried to picture Harry. THAT image did not hesitate to form. Worse, he was flashing a decidedly cheeky grin in her direction. Her magic pulsed within her at the thought. _‘He is the one,’_ it seemed to say.

  
Seeing Hermione’s distressed look, Ginny knew better than to push her stubborn friend. Instead, she offered a hug and for a moment the two girls clung to each other.

  
Brushing Hermione’s unruly hair away from her face, Ginny said softly, “Maybe this afternoon will give the two of you a chance to talk.”

  
Hermione nodded. Maybe it would.

  
o o o

  
Harry had spent the morning giving his House of Lords speech another go. All he had to show for it was endless sheets of parchment lying crumbled on the floor. With a muttered exclamation, he consigned them to the fire and threw himself down on his sofa to think.

  
More than an hour of deep thought later, his mind was made up. He did not want to live his life amidst the ton, hiding his magic and his heritage. He wanted to return to Grasmere and work with his people. A pair of chocolate colored eyes and an enticing dimple flashed across his brain, and he smiled at the thought.

  
_‘Perhaps, just perhaps, she would want to go with me.’_ He was not really sure of her feelings. He knew she liked him, but she’d seemed awfully chummy with that Barron chap. He was to take her driving that afternoon – maybe it was time to find out.

  
In the interim, it was past time to find out what scheme his mother was considering to extract him from Society. Bounding up the stairs, he locked his door behind him while casting a Notice Me Not charm on it, and headed for the Floo.

  
Five minutes later, he was gritting his teeth in frustration. “What do you mean, she isn’t here?” he asked Baillis, the Grasmere butler.

  
Baillis spread his hands in confusion. “I thought she had gone to London to visit you. She Apparated from here probably half an hour ago. We shrunk down all of her luggage, and she took it with her, along with her maid and Tom Footman.”

  
Harry sighed. His mother would not travel to London by carriage, a trip that would require at least one overnight stay on the road and would hardly be restful. On the other hand, she could hardly Apparate directly into London without a carriage.

  
There was an inn many magicals used in these situations. The Dragon’s Nest was located in a magical community just outside of London, and it hired out horses and a carriage that could be transfigured to show any crest desired. A magical could Floo or Apparate to the inn, have the carriage prepared to specifications, unshrink the luggage and have it strapped on, and arrive in London via the King’s Highway within the hour in style and without undue discomfort. The fact that she’d taken her maid and the footman with her told him this was exactly what she had planned. Apparently, she had intended to surprise him.

  
Thanking Baillis, he took the time to pop into the kitchen to say hello to Cook. She was thrilled to see him, as she had been ever since he’d been a little lad. Her youngest, Robbie, had been one of his best friends growing up and the kitchen one of their favorite haunts. Robbie was now married with two children – as Cook caught Harry up on the exploits of her grandchildren, she plied him with ginger biscuits she’d made for the servants’ tea. Kissing her on the cheek before he left, he promised her he would be back for a longer visit soon. Grabbing another biscuit, he headed back to the Floo.

  
Arriving at the London house, he cast a quick _Tempus_ after verifying that his mother had not yet arrived. It was almost time to go pick up Hermione.

  
He knew his mother and father had used the inn’s services often, and that she regarded the couple who ran The Dragon’s Nest as friends. She was doubtless using the opportunity to catch up with them, and there was no telling what time she would arrive in London – since she did not know he was now expecting her, she might even spend the night at the inn.

  
He briefly considering sending round a note to the Weasley home to cancel the planned park excursion, but realized he could hardly do so since he was not supposed to know his mother was on her way. Besides, he wanted to see Hermione – he had not seen her since their waltz on Wednesday.

  
He asked a footman to summon his curricle, and headed for the door, stopping to inform his butler that he’d failed to mention earlier that he’d heard a rumor at the Manderlay ball the night before that Lady Potter was on her way to London.

  
“I’m not certain whether she will be arriving sometime today or tomorrow, but could you make sure her apartments are ready? Perhaps some fresh flowers in her room? And my apologies for the short notice - I don’t know how it slipped my mind this morning.”

  
He very seldom had a chance to get anything over on his mother. Grinning to himself at the thought of her face when she saw the flowers waiting for her, he leapt into the curricle and headed for the Weasleys.

  
o o o

  
They’d been fairly quiet on the drive to Hyde Park. Harry was concentrating on traffic and Hermione explained she had not had a great deal of sleep the night before. Each was pleased to find that they were comfortable with silence in the other’s presence, and more than a little gratified to realize that the periodic stolen glances were returned.

  
Once again, Hermione was conscious of Harry’s strong body pressed against her left side and his unique spicy scent that she believed she could identify anywhere, even blindfolded. Why did the man have to be so ridiculously attractive?

  
Harry could not resist glancing again at the witch beside him. She looked lovely today in a rose colored gown and a shawl that was of a slightly darker shade. Her creamy skin was flawless and the curve of her mouth enchanting. And there was something about her that drew him in, making him feel comfortable in her company yet somehow charged with awareness of her at the same time. She didn’t try to apply a single wile as far as he could see, but really, the woman was ridiculously attractive.

  
As they entered the park, Hermione gasped and grabbed Harry’s arm. “Look!” she whispered, gesturing at an oncoming barouche. “Isn’t that Sophie Edgecombe with Mr. Barron?”

  
It was. Harry gave his companion a look of some concern. “I don’t think they’ve seen us yet. I could take this next fork if you’d like?” He was already directing his horses that way.

  
She looked back at him with unfeigned surprise. “As you wish. Did you not wish to say hello?”

  
Coloring slightly, he replied, “I thought perhaps you might not want to have to converse with the two of them together.”

  
She was confused for a second, and then caught on. “Oh! That was very thoughtful of you, Harry. No, I am pleased to see them together. I had suggested to Mr. Barron that he might want to consider Sophie in his search for a wife.”

  
Really, Harry thought, it was a lovely day. He could not recall when the sun had shone quite so brightly. His lips quirked. “I had rather thought Mr. Barron was interested in you for that role. Did he solicit your help in identifying candidates?”

  
She blushed. “He did not propose to me, if that’s what you mean. He did seem…,” she hesitated, then continued, “interested, but I let him know that I was not interested in that kind of relationship between us and thought he might find Sophie a better match. I am so pleased that he gave the suggestion some consideration!”

  
“He danced the waltz with her last night at the Manderlay’s ball, and escorted her to the supper room afterward, so seeing them here today might be a good sign. If your scheme works, I know Ned will thank you.” He’d always liked Sophie, Harry thought. Barron too, come to that. Splendid couple. He wished them happy.

  
Hermione frowned. “It’s not a _scheme,_ Harry. I just thought they might suit. They’re both rather quiet, they both like the country – they have several things in common.”

  
He grinned at her. “I thought _you_ liked the country.”

  
She glanced at him cautiously. Perhaps here was an opportunity for that conversation? “I do, and I like Mr. Barron. However, I have come to realize that I could never really be happy long term in a Muggle society.”

  
Her heart was hammering so hard she would not have been surprised had he said he could hear it. “I need my magic, you see. I don’t feel quite whole without it, and I don’t want to.”

  
He had taken another fork and the path they were currently on was largely deserted, allowing him to slow the horses to walk. “No dreams of playing the Society hostess?” he asked in a light tone, hoping not to convey his deep interest in her answer.

  
“None,” she answered. Turning to look more fully at him, she said seriously, “I think it would cause me serious pain to do so.”

  
He twisted to see her face, and their eyes met. The surge hit without warning, and its impact left them both shaken. Harry stopped the horses, disregarding the fact that his carriage was blocking the path.

  
He stared at her. “I thought it was the waltz.”

  
She smiled slightly. “The reason we felt it so intently on Wednesday? Yes, so did I. This time though…” her voice trailed off, while her eyes searched his face.

  
He nodded briefly. “This time it made the jolt at the dance feel inconsequential. Hermione, it felt like my magic was somehow reaching for yours. I know that sounds ridiculous, but – “

  
_‘Should I tell him? But I don’t want to put ideas in his head. Oh, I don’t know what to do!’_

  
“It doesn’t,” she said softly. “It felt like that for me too.” She saw that he was staring at her lips, and knew he was wondering as she was, _‘What would happen if we kissed?’_

  
An approaching carriage made Harry realize they were stopped and that he had come close to kissing her in a public park. Clicking the horses into movement, he thought they needed a change of subject to collect themselves.

  
“So Ginny said something about taking you to the Tower on Wednesday. You don’t mind that she invited me, I trust?” God, was he flirting? Next he would be batting his eyelashes at the witch.

  
She laughed, relaxing. “No, not at all.” Suddenly, she grabbed his arm again. “OH!”

  
Giving her a side glance, he said, “You know, Miss Granger, a proper gentleman would be begging you to stop clutching at his sleeve like that. These wrinkles would be the despair of my valet if I couldn’t use magic to remove them.”

  
She laughed again at the mischief in his eyes. “I am very sorry, sir. It is just that I realized you might not know – Lord Weasley thinks Derian may be close to proposing.”

  
He threw her a sardonic expression. “This cannot have surprised you. Derian is head over ears for our Ginny.”

  
She smiled, happy on her friend’s behalf. “So it’s true, then.”

  
Harry shrugged. “He hasn’t shared his plans with me, but I believe he is planning on dining with Ned this evening. If I know Derian, he would want to be sure there were no objections there before presenting himself to Lord Weasley. He’s known Ned a long time.”

  
She shared Ginny’s plan to reveal her magical heritage if Derian proposed and asked for his opinion, since he had known the man for years. He looked thoughtful while considering the matter, then said that he did not believe Ginny had anything to worry about.

  
“Tell her to send him round to me with any questions.” He grinned suddenly. “God, it will be glorious to have someone besides Ned who knows the truth.”

  
“Is that so rare then?” Somehow she had not really considered that before. It sounded very lonely.

  
“Here in London? Outside of the Weasleys, no one knows.”

  
“Until me.”

  
He smiled at her. “Until you. And I would enjoy being with you in any case, but it is so good not to have to pretend.”

  
She looked at him seriously. “How do you bear it?”

  
He grimaced. “Lately, I am really not sure.” Suddenly, he wanted to tell her everything. “Look, would you mind if we took another fork, tied the horses and walked for a bit so we can talk properly?”

  
He looked a bit troubled, she noticed. She hoped that she could help.

  
“I would love that,” she said softly.

  
He glanced at her. “It may not quite be the thing, you know.”

  
She regarded him calmly. “I know.”

  
A few minutes later, the phaeton had been pulled off the road and the horses tied to a tree. He offered his arm and directed her to a walking path that ran parallel to the road. There was no one else in sight, and he tried to ignore the persistent image of a disapproving Lady Weasley in his head.

  
“You said you are having trouble bearing the secrecy?” Hermione asked gently as they strolled.

  
He sighed. “It’s really not even just the secrecy. Lately, I seem to be questioning my entire way of life. I always thought I would go into the House of Lords like my father did, and be a force for social change, but – “

  
“But? Something else sounds more appealing?” When he didn’t answer immediately, she asked, “If you could have any life you wanted, what would it look like?”

  
And he began to talk. How he wanted to return to Grasmere. How he missed his magic. His mother’s coven, and his interest in something similar. The work they did on the estate, and his thoughts regarding change.

  
Her brow furrowed. “Your family owns a pottery factory? So it wasn’t always part of the peerage?” She knew how much Society frowned upon anything that was considered trade.

  
He chuckled. “We were always potters. Somehow one of my ancestors ended up saving the life of Charles II when he was in Staffordshire visiting one of his mistresses. He was so impressed he offered to knight his rescuer on the spot, and offered him a place on his staff, and enough gold to make him wealthy.

  
“The wizard had no interest in that life, but his oldest son was a Squib and was looking for a way to make his mark, so he asked the King to grant the boon to his son instead. The son moved to London and apparently did so well that he eventually was anointed Earl of Potter. He married a Society woman, and they had three children, two of whom were magical. So the dual lives began. As you know, the King that followed Charles, James II, was a very religious man. He feared witchcraft and a lot of the magicals in Polite Society either left it or bound their magic to avoid being found out. The Potters somehow hung on, keeping our feet in both worlds. And here we are.”

  
She was fascinated. “And your factory?”

  
He grinned, obviously proud. “It’s amazing. It employs a mixture of magicals, Squibs and even a few Muggles, though they are all bound with secrecy oaths and they know their memories will be removed if the oaths are violated. We’re not worried though – we have a Legilmens who participates in the interviewing process, and who routinely screens the Muggle employees, with their consent. Most of them are related to the magical or Squib employees we already have - we have families that have been with us for generations. It’s very rare that we have a job opening for very long.”

  
“So you want to run the factory?”

  
He shook his head. “No, but I would like to be more involved. We have a spell design department that has always fascinated me, and I am also interested in the creative side. But mostly, it is my family’s business, one my children will inherit, and I just think it would be infinitely more satisfying to be more involved with it and with the estate and the quality of magical life in our village rather spending much of my life in the City arguing over politics and going to various social events.”

  
She nodded. “I can understand that. I confess, it baffles me that Ginny wants that kind of life.”

  
“She’ll be brilliant at it – Derian will be lucky to have her. With our Ginevra behind him, he will go far.”

  
“But that’s not the life you want?”

  
“That’s not the life I want at all. And I love Ginny, but I cannot think of a wife who would suit me less.”

  
He smiled down at her. “Lord, you’re easy to talk to. Thank you for listening to all of that.”

  
Glancing around, he suddenly realized the phaeton was nowhere in sight behind them. Just how far had they walked?

  
Puzzled by the expression on his face, Hermione turned around.

  
“Harry? Where’s the carriage?”

  
“Somewhere back there. I think we’ve walked rather further than I had anticipated. We’d best turn around.”

  
Hermione cast cushioning charms on her shoes, which really did not have that much cushioning to begin with. Her feet were going to make her pay for this tomorrow.

  
Dimpling, she looked up at her escort. “Harry? How do you feel about _‘Accio, horse!’_?”

  
Picturing his surprised horse were it to be ripped from its tether and hurtled toward him, Harry started to laugh. Smiling up into his sparkling green eyes, Hermione could not help but notice again how ridiculously attractive the man was.

  
As they started back, he asked about her family visit, and she filled him in on the cuter escapades of her nephew that Abby had relayed.

  
“Are they still planning on moving?”

  
She nodded. “Yes, and they are being very silly about it, saying they won’t go until after the first of the year so that they can spend the holidays with me.“

  
She sighed. “I’m going to write Abby tonight and tell her she needs to think seriously about moving by the fall at the latest. Ladies will want new bonnets for the holidays – it will be much harder to start to build a business in January. And we can still spend the holidays together, whether I go there or they return to The Grange.”

Harry looked down on her with tenderness. He knew how difficult her family’s move would be for her, but her only thoughts were of what was best for them. She was perhaps the bravest person he had ever met, and he felt incredibly lucky to have met her.

They rounded a bend, and finally could see the phaeton in the distance.

“So what kind of life would you want if you could have any life you chose?” he asked. “Ned said something about a potions shop.”

She began to tell him of her interest in Potions and her plan to obtain a mastery in it. “I like inventing new remedies. I don’t necessarily have to have a shop per se, but I like the idea of helping people where I can and using my talent and creative process to do that.”

“Do you have a pet project at the moment?” He was surprised to see her turn a bit pink at the question.

“You’ll laugh.”

Promising that he wouldn’t, Harry waited.

“I’ve been working on a hair potion on and off for years now, and I think I should soon have it perfected once I return home.”

Harry wasn’t laughing, but he was a bit confused. “A hair potion?” He couldn’t see much of her hair now under her bonnet, but he’d seen it before, and could not imagine why she would need a potion for it. “To change the color? I like your hair. It suits you.”

She shook her head. “Not to change the color. To make it behave and stay where I want it to stay.” She sighed. “You would not believe how many hair charms I have to employ now. And they wear off, always when one least wants them to.”

She looked up at him and saw that he was grinning. “Yes, laugh on, but your hair is lovely. Once I get this potion perfected, it is going to make my life so much easier! And I’m sure that there are other women who will feel the same!”

He wasn’t convinced, but admitted he knew little of the matter. “Have you thought of what you might call it?”

She nodded. “I have, actually. I think I’m going to call it Sleekeasy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N - Thanks for reading. Reviews are appreciated! I wish each of you a belated Happy Hanukkah or a very merry Christmas.


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione confronts her feelings, and Harry learns what his mother has been planning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My apologies for the delay in this chapter - I needed a couple of days to recover from the holiday. Updates will in all likelihood be pushed to weekends until this story is concluded.

Harry arrived home after returning Hermione to the Weasleys, relieved to see a carriage with the family crest in front of Potter House. Handing over the reins to his team to a waiting footman, he bounded up the steps two at a time and found his mother in the foyer, chatting with Stevens, his butler.

“Darling!” Margaret Potter greeted her son. “I hear you were expecting me, and I had so hoped to surprise you!”

He bent to kiss her cheek. “Then perhaps you should have avoided telling your friends of your plans. Sylvia Manderlay looks forward to your call at your earliest convenience.”

Margaret’s emerald eyes twinkled. “I do so look forward to seeing Sylvia, and Miriam, and all of my friends here in town. But for now, I look forward to catching up with you.”

After confirming that his mother was not in need of refreshment, Harry asked Stevens to ensure that they were not disturbed, and escorted his mother to the study. 

“So what have you been up to today, dearest?” his mother asked once they were settled.

“I made a decision about my future.” Her eyes flew to his, and her eyebrow arched in silent inquiry. “I plan to return to Grasmere and live my life there.”

Margaret closed her eyes briefly as intense relief and satisfaction coursed through her. _‘At last.’_

Harry was watching her closely. “You had implied that there might be something that could be done to extricate me?”

Margaret smiled slowly. “Why, yes. I do believe there is.”

o o o

After returning from her drive with Harry, Hermione needed time to think. Using the letter she intended to send to Abby as an excuse, she closed herself in her bedroom and sank into the upholstered chair in front of the mahogany escritoire.

Harry didn’t want to live in Muggle London.

Harry thought he was wasting his life as a member of the _bon ton_.

Harry said it felt like his magic was reaching out to her.

_Harry had wanted to kiss her._

Oh, he had not said so, but she knew – it had been written on his face as plainly as it had doubtless been written on hers. Because she had wanted to kiss him too.

Some part of Hermione recognized that in kissing him she would be strengthening the link between them, perhaps irreversibly so. However, since she was being honest with herself, she had to admit she could not much care. The very magic within her seemed to promise that kissing him, loving him, _belonging_ to him was the path to her future happiness, and if it was a path that felt almost predestined, somehow that knowledge did not hold quite the same horror that it had initially.

She recalled her words to Ginny earlier – Merlin, was that only this morning? _“I like him a great deal. I could fall for him quite hard, I think.”_

“So that was a bit of an understatement,” she murmured. Because she was head over ears in love with Lord Potter, and the power of acknowledging that emotion had her feeling somewhat shaky. 

It was not just that he was probably the most attractive man she’d ever met – he was kind, and he made her laugh, and he _listened._ And as she had heard him describe his home and the life that he wanted, the last barrier she had erected to keep her growing feelings in check had melted away – suddenly, she was not only able to visualize a life together of mutual conversation and support and love, but she found herself longing for it. 

Hermione suspected Harry cared for her as well, but if they were to have a chance at a happy life together, she needed to know he had formed his opinions and conclusions because of _her_ , without nudges by talk of fate or destiny. She would tell him of the soulmate theory if he professed his affection – it would be completely unfair not to do so - but, until then, she would not mention it. If his feelings were not as engaged as her own, she would not try to influence them in such a fashion.

She knew she had reached the right decision when she immediately felt better. Casting a quick _Tempus_ , she saw that there was still time before dinner to write to her sister-in-law. It made no sense for her family to defer its move until after the first of the year. And for the first time, regardless of what happened with Harry, Hermione felt at peace about the upcoming change.

It was time to stop living in the past.

o o o

Harry was staring at his mother. “A blood magic ritual? Isn’t that a bit dark?”

Margaret made a dismissive motion. “Oh, please. The ritual would involve using our family’s blood to fuel and strengthen the coven’s spell – it is hardly as if we will be sacrificing an infant and calling on the forces of evil.”

She had explained that she and her coven had been working on this spell for nearly eight years. “When you were fifteen, I started to have my first serious doubts that you would be happy with the life you saw laid out for yourself, and I started to think about solutions.” 

His father had been aware of her concern and her spell research, and had even assisted her where he could. The two had always loved to travel the world and visit different magical societies, but now those trips had a new purpose – they wanted to consult with as many magical experts as they could in crafting the spell Margaret was considering.

As Daniel lay dying, he had persuaded her to take some of his own blood, which she had preserved under stasis in case it was needed. “Your father loved you, dearest – he only wanted you to be happy. He couldn’t let himself believe I was right – and indeed, I was not completely certain of it myself at the time – but his love for you allowed him to consider the possibility and to plan for it.”

“And people would just forget I existed?” 

His mother leaned forward. “Not exactly, darling. It is a bit more than an _Obliviate_ spell applied to the general population. The spell would affect only Muggles, and only those Muggles not specifically excluded by name and blood. And it would not cause them to forget _you_ – it would cause them to forget Lord Potter.

“If you ran into someone you had known from University on the street, for example, they would remember you as Harry Potter but any memory specifically associated with your peerage would be gone – instead, you would be that old commoner acquaintance who’d attended a few Society functions over the years, but who had never wanted anything more than to live in the country. Whether there was friendship or enmity or no relationship between you would be unaffected by the spell, but they would find themselves unable to recall specifics regarding your background, other than simple facts such as you were an only child, your father was dead, or similar.” 

She shrugged. “It won’t feel unusual to them – we all struggle from time to time to recall details on other people we do not see regularly, and enough specific memories will remain to where they won’t question it. The spell will also have a bit of an overlay to it not dissimilar to the _Notice Me Not_ charm – if the person cannot immediately recall where he saw you last, for example, it won’t feel important to try to remember it.”

He was staring. “And it won’t wear off?”

She smiled reassuringly. “It will not. I cannot fully describe the exactness of the spell or how the magic will work, but think of the spell as reaching out simultaneously to anyone you’ve ever met outside of our village or Hogwarts, and calling their memories associated with the Potter family peerage to the Pensieve we have anchored with our blood, then replacing those memories with vague recollections of your commoner past. It will hold.”

Frowning, he asked, “You’ve tested it? Well, no, you couldn’t have –“

His mother raised an eyebrow. “Darling, of course we’ve tested it. Not with this exact desired outcome, granted, but with others.”

Harry was fascinated. “How?”

“We began with small things – an early spell ensured that the affected test subjects could no longer list the colors of a rainbow in order, for instance. Then they were made to believe rainbows consisted of different colors, and we ensured they believed this to be true even when looking at one. 

“There may have been a couple of years when no one in our coven except for two people designated as controls for the experiment could recall that Dabney Polaris had been our mayor before his death. And that included his wife. We remembered Dabney, we even remembered that in his youth he’d had some interest in politics, but we couldn’t recall why he never pursued it and were not much interested in the subject if it were raised.” 

Her green eyes glinted. “And there were other experiments in a similar vein, some involving larger and more distant groups.” 

Her expression hinted at secrets, he noticed, and perhaps a bit of smugness, yet she met his gaze in her usual serene fashion. He was conscious of a faint chill. Sometimes he forgot that his mother was an enormously powerful witch. And that while she was one of the kindest women of his acquaintance, she was not one to be trifled with in any matter that regarded his well-being.

“Really, dearest, I don’t believe you need the details.” The look on her face told her he would be wasting his breath in requesting them.

His brow creased. “You mentioned no one remembered Dabney’s mayoral career for a couple of years – does that mean this is reversible?”

Margaret regarded him with an unusually serious expression on her face. “You might remember I said at the outset that if you wanted to extricate yourself from Polite Society, steps we take to secure that might be rather difficult to undo, so you needed to be sure. Are you uncertain?”

He shook his head. “I’m not, no. Simply curious.”

She nodded with a faint smile. “I wouldn’t say it was impossible, just …. difficult, not without cost, and nothing that could be executed swiftly. Without me, it _would_ be impossible, however, so you really need to be very certain.”

He met her gaze. “I am.”

Her expression warmed. “Then we should talk about timing.”

“But what happens to the title?”

She dismissed the concern with a graceful wave of her hand. “Your father had no brothers and no one from Muggle society will recall you being his son. Therefore, the earldom will be considered to have been an extinct one from the time of his death.”

Harry felt a pang at the thought that no one would remember him as being his father’s son. Daniel Potter had been known and admired by many of his Muggle friends – he had always been proud to be known as his son.

Seeing the flash of dismay on her son’s face, and understanding the reason for it, Margaret added gently, “You will always be his son, Harry. And the Weasleys and everyone at home will still know that.”

“And Potter House? The servants?”

She looked amused. “You will leave London at the end of the Season as you would normally do, and the servants will close up the house. The temporary staff will seek new employment - you have only a small handful of permanent staff members. Wilkins of course will be taken into our confidence – I expect he will want to come home with you. I would suggest offering Stevens a pensioned retirement – he is of an age, and was just telling me it is difficult to be so far from his grandchildren. The cook and the rest of the permanent staff will remain on contract with the house, which will be remembered as one that has been available for lease since your father’s passing. Mr. Harry Potter will be remembered as its most recent tenant.”

He sat back, a bit stunned. “You seem to have thought of everything.”

“Darling, a spell of this magnitude can only be successful if it has been very carefully considered and planned. This is not something the coven would attempt on a whim. The power involved in accomplishing this is going to be debilitating. I doubt seriously that any of us will be able to so much as levitate a teaspoon for weeks after this is over. As I have said, you need to be sure.”

He assured her that he was, and she patted his cheek as she stood. “That’s lovely. Now, I am going to go upstairs to wash off the dirt of my lengthy carriage ride,” she said with a wink, “and then I will rejoin you for dinner. I look forward to hearing more of what is going on here in Town.”

Harry stood as well. “Mother,” he said abruptly as she was reaching for the doorknob.

“Yes, darling?”

“This spell – is it written down anywhere?”

Her green eyes, so like his own, pierced his. “And why would you want to know that, dearest?” she asked softly, without smiling. The tingle in his spine reminded him that he was in the presence of power, though he felt no sense of danger from her.

“I am concerned about its misuse, if in the wrong hands,” he said bluntly. “If I understood you correctly, your coven could just as easily have everyone believing that I am King of England as it could make me plain Harry Potter.”

She rewarded him with a small nod of respect. “It could indeed. Too often, it would be used for ambition or power if it were to become known. 

“You may relax, dearest. I am the only person who knows the totality of it, and the written version I have is written in a way that can be interpreted only by me. That document will be cast into the fire once the spell is complete, and the final act of the spell itself will remove its specifics from the memory of all who hear it.” 

Her raised hand halted the words that sprang to his lips. “The coven is aware of this, Harry. Each member also had to swear on her magic that the exact nature of the spell could not be divulged, ever, before any specifics were divulged.”

She turned again toward the door, then added, “I did say I couldn’t describe it exactly to you, did I not?”

And with the lift of an ironic eyebrow over her shoulder, she was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Reviews are appreciated. And if you'd like to read a story about canon Harry and Hermione, my holiday story A Harmonious Christmas is now up.


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Derian tells Ginny of his plan to ask for her hand; Margaret and Harry join the Weasleys for dinner; Harry and Hermione finally kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We are nearing the end - there will probably be 2-3 chapters after this one, plus an epilogue.

On Saturday evening, the Weasley family and its houseguest had gathered in the parlor as was their custom to enjoy a drink before dinner. 

When the butler arrived shortly afterward, the group assumed he had come to inform them that .the meal was ready early, then realized he was carrying a tray with a note on it. Hermione recognized the Potter crest and stilled, only to have the butler walk past her and present the note to Lady Weasley with a bow. 

“A page just dropped this off for you, my lady. He awaits your response.”

Miriam opened the missive and scanned its first lines hastily. A smile lit her face, as she looked up at her husband. “Margaret is in town! She looks forward to seeing us at church in the morning.” 

She read the remainder of the note and laughed. “And she begs our forgiveness at her presumption, but was wondering if perhaps we would care to have her join us for dinner tomorrow night.” 

Robert chuckled. “I think we should tell her no, don’t you?”

His wife twinkled at him. “It is certainly a tempting thought, my lord, but you know she would only show up anyway!”

Hermione could only stare at the pair in bewilderment as they laughed together.

“They’re teasing,” Ned said _sotto voce_. “They adore Margaret Potter, as do we all, and she has been Mother’s best friend since they were small. It is a longstanding practice for her to come to dinner soon after arriving in town. In fact - ”  
  


“It will be so good to see her,” Lady Weasley was saying. “Robert, would you mind dreadfully if I asked her to stay the night?”

Ned nodded at Hermione, while Robert Weasley cast his wife an indulgent look. “I suppose it would be useless to say I prefer my wife in bed with me at a reasonable hour rather than staying up half the night with her guest while giggling like schoolgirls?”

Ginny was smiling. “And they will, you know,” she murmured to Hermione out of the butler’s hearing. “Even though they talk nearly every day through the Floo, and write regularly on top of that.”

Hermione had not realized that Lady Weasley and Lady Potter were in such regular contact. She wondered what, if anything, Lady Potter knew of her.

Lady Weasley had scrawled a response to Lady Potter, and the butler departed to deliver it to the waiting page.

“Oh, it will be so good to see her again!” Miriam exclaimed. And her family agreed that it would.

o o o

Harry and his mother were already seated at St. James the next morning when the Weasleys arrived with Hermione. As the group was filing into the family pew, Ginny felt a touch on her arm. Turning, she saw Lord Clarkson standing in the aisle behind her. 

Gesturing for Hermione to precede her into the pew, she smiled at Derian and said, “Good morning, my lord.” She could only hope he could not see her heart hammering through her spencer.

Derian bowed slightly. “Good morning, Miss Weasley. May I say that you look charmingly today?” Ginny blushed as Derian continued. “I was wondering if you would do me the honor of allowing me to escort you home after service today?”

Ginny’s eyes shone. “Why yes, that would be lovely. I will look for you after church.”

He bowed again and was gone. Ginny sank down as her knees gave out, and was thankful to find the pew beneath her. She stood again as the instruments sounded the processional and as she turned to face the procession, her gloved hand fumbled for Hermione’s behind her, where it was seized and gripped hard.

o o o

Unfortunately, Hermione could not see much of Lady Potter as much of the lady was obscured by her rather dashing hat. She did see, however, the obvious affection between mother and son as their heads bent together over the shared psalter and hymnal.

She was given the opportunity to catch a brief glimpse of her as she returned to her own pew after receiving the Eucharist, and had the fleeting impression of a kind face framed by raven hair similar to Harry’s. Harry noticed her glance, and smiled warmly at her. She smiled back, dipping her head briefly in acknowledgement.

She could hardly wait until dinner.

o o o

The distance between Mayfair and St. James was not great – less than a mile – and it was not unusual for parishioners to walk to service. As her family exited the church, Ginny could see Derian waiting for her outside. Speaking softly, she advised her mother of his offer to escort her home, and Miriam nodded in assent. 

“Pray tell Lady Potter that I look forward to seeing her at dinner,” Ginny said, as she left on Derian’s arm. 

As the Potters came out of the church, Hermione once again was deprived of a close look at Lady Potter as Margaret was engulfed in a hug by Miriam. Harry, Ned and Lord Weasley exchanged grins. 

“We’d best step off the pathway,” Lord Weasley said. “Those two are going to be a minute.” 

As Harry said good morning to her and to Ned, Hermione noticed that it almost appeared that a weight had been lifted from him. Always charming and good-humored, his mood this morning could almost be called ebullient. 

After complimenting Hermione on her appearance, Harry lowered his voice slightly and asked Ned, “So did you enjoy your dinner with Derian last night?”

Ned included Hermione in his answering grin. “I know this will astonish you both, but the silly man wants to marry my sister!”

o o o

As they made their way through Berkley Square, Ginny was perplexed when the always easy conversation with Derian seemed to struggle a bit. They had discussed the beauty of the day, the inspiring nature of the sermon, and the press of the people around them until she was ready to scream with the banality of it all. 

Whether her increased anxiousness finally made itself known to him or whether his own nerves just took over, she never knew, but finally (FINALLY!) Derian slowed and drew her off the sidewalk a bit. 

Looking down at her with more seriousness than she had ever seen him display, he said, “Should it not displease you, it is my intention to call upon your father in the morning.”

Oh Lord, her knees had gone all wobbly again. Surely, surely she was not misunderstanding him. She waited, but he said nothing more, forcing her to finally ask softly, “To what end, my lord?”

Derian flushed as he realized belatedly he had not been plain about his plans. “I beg your pardon. I meant to say, I would be calling on your father to request your hand in marriage.” He fidgeted a bit. “Should the idea not displease you.”

 _‘Oh, WHY did today have to be Sunday!’_ thought Ginevra. The negotiation of marriage contracts was considered business, and business could not be conducted today.

She looked up at him and said tenderly, “It would not displease me, my lord.”

His face lit up at her response and they beamed foolishly at one another. As Derian offered his arm again and they returned to the sidewalk, Ginny felt compelled to ask, “Derian? Would you mind terribly making it _early_ tomorrow?” 

o o o

As Lady Weasley presented Lady Potter to her houseguest, Hermione could not help feeling a bit awed. 

Margaret Potter was a strikingly lovely witch. It was clear that Harry had gotten his emerald eyes and raven locks from her, though her hair had more wave than his, and her skin was milky white rather than tanned as her son’s was. Her voice was low and melodious, and she greeted Hermione warmly. 

She hugged Robert and Ned, and Hermione was conscious of the pride and affection on Harry’s face while watching her. Theirs was obviously a close relationship.

As other members of the bon ton exiting the church realized who was back in their midst, it was soon apparent that she was going to be swarmed. Telling both the Potters that they would see them at dinner, the Weasley group turned toward home.

Harry’s mother was not a tall woman, Hermione reflected, probably no more than an inch taller than Hermione herself. However, even though her prior fleeting impression of a kind face had been confirmed, it was clear now to Hermione that Margaret Potter was a woman of power. 

It was so clear, in fact, that she could only be vaguely surprised that it was not somehow felt by all the Muggles who rushed to hug her. 

o o o

Lady Potter and her son had scarce arrived for dinner when Ginny shared the expectation that Derian was expected to call in the morning to ask for her hand.

“Forgive my daughter, Margaret,” Miriam said, glancing at Ginny reprovingly. “She has apparently misplaced her sense of decorum.”

Ginny’s blinding smile encompassed both older women. It was clear that nothing could harm her high spirits this evening. “It is just that I am so happy, Aunt Margaret. I do so look forward to you meeting him.”

Margaret hugged the young woman. “I look forward to it as well, my dear.”

Hermione very much enjoyed the conversation at dinner – the closeness of the two families was heart-warming to see, and laughter rang out time and again as the older adults enjoyed recounting some of the escapades that Ned, Harry and Ginny had gotten up to as youngsters. 

Margaret encouraged Hermione to talk about her own family and after a brief nod from Harry confirmed that his mother was aware that her brother was deceased, she shared several amusing tales that made it clear she and her brother had certainly not been angels. That prompted Lord Weasley to bring up some of the stories he’d heard from the older ladies over the years about their own antics as children, and by the time it was time for the women to withdraw to the parlor, they were all wiping away tears of mirth.

After the ladies departed, Harry told Robert and Ned Weasley succinctly of his decision to exit the Muggle world. Ned appeared a bit stunned, but Robert was not surprised. He assured Harry of his full support.

They rejoined the ladies once their port was finished. Miriam and Margaret were listening to Ginny’s plan for the difficult revelation she would need to make to Derian the following day; Hermione was at the pianoforte playing a piece by Haydn. While the Weasley men joined the family group, Harry crossed the room and moved his usual chair alongside the piano bench.

“Your eyes are closed again,” he said softly. A dimple peeked at him – she had heard his approach in what had become his custom.

“You are doubtless worried, my lord, that I cannot play with my eyes open,” she returned, eyes still shut. 

“I would not care, Miss Granger, but for the fact that you deprive me of the opportunity to sit alongside you and turn the music pages on your behalf, as a gentleman would normally be allowed to do for a lady.”

Her eyes opened, and she gave him a warm smile to accompany her sidelong glance while her fingers continued to flash across the keys. 

“I am sorry to deprive you of that chance, my lord, but think of the opportunity it has created for you to instead pay me lavish compliments.”

He loved the way she could always make him laugh. Chuckling, he responded, “I shall endeavor to rise to the challenge, madam. May I tell you how lovely you look in primrose?”

“You may,” she answered, trying not to smile.

“You do, you know. You put the actual flower quite to shame. May I also compliment you on how extraordinarily well your hair charms are performing this evening?”

She did laugh then. “If I were not so terribly proud of them, I am sure I would be properly horrified that you noticed, but instead, I thank you, sir.”

As Hermione concluded the sonata, and Harry extended a hand to help her up from the bench, she smiled up into his eyes as she stood. 

As their hands touched, the now almost expected surge made them each gasp. Harry’s eyes darkened, and he clasped her hand more tightly, as he spoke in a lowered tone. 

“Hermione, I believe my mother has found a magical means of extricating me from Muggle society. It involves her coven, and she plans to discuss it more with Aunt Miriam later tonight.”

The intent look on his face was making it difficult for Hermione to catch her breath. “That is wonderful. I know that is what you hoped for! When is this to be?” 

“Sometime after the end of the season. I am not sure exactly. It will be a powerful piece of magic, which will leave them quite drained for some time, she says. I am not sure what preparations will be needed for such a spell.”

Reminded anew that his mother was a very powerful witch, Hermione glanced Margaret, and found that she was watching them. Lady Potter smiled kindly and resumed her conversation with the Weasleys, but Hermione extracted her hand from Harry’s. “If I can help in any way, I hope you know that it would be my pleasure to do so.”

“I do. In the interim, may I hope that you have no plans to return home immediately?” He captured her hand again, and with his back blocking the motion from the rest of the room, raised it briefly to his lips while his eyes never left her own. 

The jolting sensation reverberated between them. “I-I have no immediate plans to return home, my lord.”

His green eyes were aglow with warmth. “That is good news, indeed. I had planned to call for my mother tomorrow after luncheon. Perhaps before I take her home, you and I could go for a stroll?”

Hermione was finding it difficult to form coherent thoughts. “I-I – That sounds most pleasant. I shall look forward to it.”

My God, was he staring at her mouth? His mother was in the room! He needed to get out of there. “I think it is time for me to go. I shall see you tomorrow?” His voice was a bit hoarse. 

Hermione could not imagine rejoining the others. She would be unable to concentrate on any conversation. “It is probably time for me to retire as well. Shall I walk you out?”

They each said their goodnights to the rest of the group, and exited the parlor together. Hermione walked him to the landing at the top of the stairs. 

“So I will see you in the morning, my lord. Be careful in your travel home.” Hermione had turned to go when Harry caught her wrist. His renewed touch on her bare skin sent an electric shock rippling throughout her body.

“Hermione.” Harry’s voice was ragged. His body was thrumming from the sensation that had been jolting through him since he had kissed her hand in the parlor.

She looked up at him, her dark eyes fathomless, and he couldn’t stop himself - he pulled her to him and covered her lips with his own. 

Hermione was lost in sensation. Her fingers buried themselves in his black hair even as his tightening grip pulled her closer. She was thankful for it – it did not feel as if she could get close enough.

Harry’s magic thundered its approval within him as the kiss deepened. The thrumming shocks had exploded into exultant sense of completion, and one he did not want to end. 

Only a need for oxygen finally made him pull away from her swollen mouth. They were both somehow unsurprised to see lingering sparks surrounding them both as they gasped for breath. 

As the sparks faded, Harry was suddenly conscious that they were on the stairway landing, in full view of any servant who might pass through the foyer below and only a few feet from the closed parlor door. 

He stared at Hermione in some horror as he tried to stammer an apology. “I beg your pardon – I don’t know what I was thinking – “

Her hand on his sleeve halted his comments. “I kissed you as much as you kissed me.” In honesty, she was trying not to stare at his lips even now. “But I think we really do need to say good night.”

He nodded, and headed down the stairs, turning to look back at her once he’d reached the bottom. “I will see you tomorrow.” 

She inclined her head and stood for a moment after he had gone, still a bit shaky. Taking a deep breath, she finally headed for her room, although she expected there would be no sleep for her tonight.

She really did need to tell him about her mother’s soulmate theory as soon as possible.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Reviews are appreciated.


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione and Margaret chat at breakfast, Margaret figures out Harry and Hermione are soulmates and there is good news for one of our couples.

Hermione woke early after a predictably restless night. She hesitated briefly before leaving her soft, warm bed, but could tell any additional efforts at sleeping would be useless. She reluctantly rose and headed for the washstand. 

Not wanting to ring for the maid quite so early, she bathed hastily with water left from the night before. _‘Well, THIS will help wake me properly,’_ she thought ruefully as she shivered at the water’s coldness. 

She threw on an old morning gown, pinned up her brown locks in a haphazard fashion, and was headed down to the breakfast parlor shortly before half six. She knew it was unlikely breakfast would be set up this early, but also knew she was in desperate need of tea. Running lightly down the stairs, she tugged her shawl around her for warmth.

Entering the breakfast parlor while still trying to adjust her shawl, she drew up short to see Margaret Potter, already seated at the table with a cup of tea, a plate of fruit and _The London Times_ before her. 

“Good morning, Hermione,” Margaret said warmly. “As you can see, I have purloined Robert’s newspaper, but I am sure you will be much better company!” Smiling at the younger woman, she pulled the servant bell and a footman appeared almost immediately.

“More tea, my lady?”

“Thank you, Kenneth. A fresh pot would be lovely. As you can see, I am not the only early riser today.” She turned to Hermione. “Miriam and I were up talking until all hours but I am awake each morning by five thirty, regardless of when I went to bed the night before. Tea is especially appreciated on mornings when I’ve had little sleep.”

Hermione noticed that Lady Potter had taken the time to learn the footman’s name. She knew from her own conversations with him that he had joined the household at the start of the Season, so would not have been there at the time of her ladyship’s last visit. 

“Miss? May I get you anything other than tea?” 

“Thank you, Kenneth,” Hermione said. “You know I have to have my tea!” They exchanged smiles - a prior chat had revealed he was similarly dependent. 

Hermione thought quickly. She did not want to create extra work for the kitchen staff this early, but bread would already be made and fruit cut. She doubted that Cook had started to fry sausages or bacon for the family yet, but sometimes there were leftovers available from the staff’s breakfast.

“Some fruit would be lovely, and if there is bacon ready, perhaps a bacon butty? Otherwise, jam and toast would be fine.”

He bowed. “I will be right back with your breakfast and a fresh pot of tea.”

Hermione thanked him again, and he departed. Margaret watched the exchange approvingly. It was evident that it was not just her own presence that prompted Hermione’s politeness to the servant – very few proper footmen would smile at a guest, and the fact that Kenneth had done so indicated that the two spoke regularly.

 _‘Of course, very few Society members would say ‘Thank you’ to a footman,’_ she reflected. She had always thought it ridiculous that _ton_ servants were to act as though they were either invisible or wooden and were too often treated as such by their employers. She was glad to see that Hermione was not one of them.

Hermione gave Margaret a shy smile, knowing she might be wondering how Hermione had come to know the footman. “I am often the first one up, you see. Kenneth has had to chat with me on more than one occasion, and we’ve been friendly since I brewed a tisane to help him with a stomach upset some weeks ago.”

Margaret put aside the newspaper. “Ah, Miriam mentioned you were interested in potions. That is a special interest of mine as well. What did you use in the tisane?” she asked with real interest.

The question sparked several minutes of shop talk before Kenneth arrived with Hermione’s breakfast and a fresh pot of tea. Both ladies thanked him, with Margaret adding that she knew there was a great deal to do to get the house and meal ready for the day. She assured him that there was no need to check on them – they would ring if they needed anything. Bowing again, Kenneth left.

“Harry mentioned you brew many of the potions for Grasmere. Do you have a large garden?” Hermione asked before taking a bite of her warm butty. 

“I do, and confess it is somewhat of a passion of mine. I like gathering my own ingredients when I can, and enjoy growing my own. Do you garden?”

Hermione nodded enthusiastically. “I do, and I completely agree that it is best to gather your own ingredients when possible. We went to Richmond Park recently, and my fingers were just itching for specimen bags. The plants there were just incredible.”

Margaret smiled understandingly. “I’ve been. It is a fabulous place, is it not? What section did you like the most?”

As they talked, Hermione was struck at how easy it was to converse with Harry’s mother and how much the two of them seemed to have in common. Since she had a great interest in spell-crafting, though not much practical experience in it, she was eager to ask about the spell the coven was considering to remove Harry from Society. However, she was not altogether sure she was supposed to know about that plan, so she decided not to raise the topic unless Margaret did.

“I enjoyed hearing your family stories last night at dinner. I don’t know if you knew this, but I had an older sister that I lost years ago. I know you must miss your brother terribly, and your father as well.”

Hermione bit her lip. “Yes, I do miss them both, but it is good to speak of them too. I did not know of your loss, ma’am, and am so sorry. What happened to your sister, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“She died in childbed, and the child with her,” Margaret said quietly. “It has been nearly thirty years, and I still miss her. She and Miriam and I were all very close all our lives, and she was a member of my coven as well, though of course I did not lead it at the time.” She sighed. “We are blessed with magic, but it cannot fix everything, unfortunately.”

Hermione thought of Alex’s condition and her family’s heartache because of it. “No, it cannot.” A small silence fell.

Seeing the sadness on Hermione’s face, Margaret changed the subject. “So tell me your impression of Ginny’s young fellow. Do you think we’ll need to be stunning him and obliviating him later?” Her green eyes glinted with humor, and Hermione laughed.

“I like Derian a good deal. He adores Ginny, and is considerate of her. It is clear he regards her as an equal and would not look on her as a possession. I am a bit worried about their upcoming conversation just because I know how heartbroken she will be if he cannot handle the news. However, he has known Ned and with Harry since school - once he understands that he has been friends with magicals for years even though he did not know it, I think he will be able to adjust.” 

She added hesitantly, “I still cannot quite believe that Ginny wants the life of a Society hostess for herself, but she truly does, and Harry says she will do well with it.”

Margaret chuckled. “I suppose he told you my fondest wish at one point was to pair the two of them?”

Hermione shook her head, brown eyes wide. Ginny had never mentioned this either, and Hermione wondered if she knew.

“Oh, yes. It was not one of my better ideas. Miriam said from the beginning that it would never work. I confess it took me a few more years to agree with her, but she was absolutely right, as she often is. They would never suit.”

“Ginny thinks the world of him, though,” Hermione defended her friend. “I cannot tell you how many wonderful things she has told me of him over the years.” 

Lady Potter looked amused. “Oh, I don’t doubt it, but Ginny has always wanted a life much like her mother’s. And while I was a Society wife myself for a number of years, I was never convinced that the political life would be the best one for Harry.” 

Horrified to realize she had completely forgotten that Harry’s father had been active politically until his death, Hermione stammered, “I beg your pardon. I intended no offense! I simply…” Her voice trailed off, while her face turned beet red.

“My dear, no offense is taken, I assure you. I had no interest in being a Society wife either!” Margaret’s eyes twinkled. “I confess I am still not entirely certain how Daniel persuaded me to that life, though he firmly denied that any enchantment was involved. But I was young, and in love, and determined to be with him. Luckily, he understood my need for magical community, so while I was always in Town for the social season, I was at Grasmere a good bit of the time after those first few years. And of course, that was easier to justify once Harry came along.”

Leaning forward to cover Hermione’s hand with her own, she added seriously, “You have no idea how much I admire you for working it out for yourself so early that this – “ her graceful gesture encompassed society as a whole “ - is not for you. Had I married a less understanding man, I could have had a very unhappy marriage. And _that_ would have been dreadful for all parties involved.”

Hermione could easily imagine that – it had been a very real fear of her own, and one reason she had been so resistant to Ginny’s belief that she would find things easier over time. What if she never had? 

She could not imagine living in a world where her magic was not a daily part of her life. She had always thought of herself as someone who perhaps too often put family interests ahead of her own, but she really had been inflexible on that point – she could not live a Muggle life, not for any significant period, anyway.

Looking at Lady Potter’s kind face, she saw that the older woman understood that and respected her for it. And she realized that on some level she was relieved by the knowledge.

“Now, my dear,” Margaret said, pouring them each another cup of tea, “Tell me what you think of my son.”

o o o

Potter House – the prior day

_Over luncheon, Harry teased his mother about the number of people who had greeted her at church that morning._

_“I imagine every time I come home for the next few days, carriages will be queued up out front with your callers.”_

_Margaret smiled. “It is always pleasant to confirm that one is missed by one’s friends. And while I do not miss Society life, now that I am in Town, I confess I will enjoy renewing acquaintances and meeting new faces. Speaking of, your Miss Granger seems to be a very lovely girl.” She favored her son with a deliberately bland look as she took a sip of tea._

_Harry’s eyes narrowed. “_ My _Miss Granger?”_

_Amused, his mother returned, “Well, dearest, when we last saw one another, you must admit you appeared to be very invested in the girl’s personal life. And since you typically avoid most unmarried females as if they carry some type of plague, it made me vastly curious.”_

_He had actually been wanting to talk to his mother about Hermione. Pleased to have been given an opening, but determined not to make it too easy for her, he responded, “It would have been difficult to avoid her, since she is staying with the Weasleys. But you are correct, she is a very lovely girl.”_

_He sat back with his own teacup and fought the urge to grin. He knew his mother well enough to be certain she wanted to ask a dozen questions, but that was not typically her way – it would be interesting to see how her inner Slytherin handled this._

_Margaret surprised Harry by speaking frankly. “Is it serious?”_

_His lips twitched. “You astonish me, Mother. It is not like you to be so … direct.”_

_She made a dismissive gesture. “Darling, should you prefer it, I can certainly extract the same information in a more indirect way. However, I could hardly help noticing her eyes seeking you out as she was returning to her pew after receiving the Eucharist or you beaming at her when she did so. But if you would prefer not to discuss it…?”_

_It was her turn to lean back and sip her tea as she let her voice trail suggestively, while arching one eyebrow in his direction._

_“I was hardly beaming,” he muttered, in a way that reminded his mother of countless occasions in his youth when he’d been caught doing something he shouldn’t._

_“I stand corrected, dearest.”_

_He eyed her carefully, but could see no obvious signs of sarcasm in her calm expression. It was amazing how the woman could always make him feel eight years old and slightly guilty, he thought with an inward chuckle. However, she was right. He did want to talk to her about Hermione, and this was a conversation best had in private._

_“It looks like we are both finished with luncheon,” he said. “Perhaps we could adjourn to my study?”_

_After removing to the study, Margaret lit the fire with a bit of wandless magic and settled into a comfortable armchair before the blaze, while watching her son pace the room. Close observation did not indicate he was upset, and she correctly determined he was trying to think of how to start._

_The silence lengthened but Harry ultimately appeared to come to some conclusion. He joined her in front of the fire, dropping into the opposite armchair, and regarding her with an unusually solemn expression on his handsome face. Dragging a hand through his hair, he said, “I think I’m in love with her.”_

_Margaret was very still. Her son was someone who on serious subjects could be slow to act – the time he had taken in determining that he wanted to withdraw from Society had surprised her not at all._

_Harry had never shown any inclination to settle down, and she had carefully avoided pushing him on the issue. Miriam had told her that Harry and Hermione appeared quite taken with one another, and she had known from his last visit to Grasmere that he seemed very concerned about her future, in an almost overly protective way. She had been cautiously optimistic but despite this, she had not expected such a forthright pronouncement quite so soon. She found herself a little startled._

_Running the tassel of a throw cushion through her fingers, she murmured inquiringly, “Oh?”_

_He grinned slightly at the subtle reminder of a thousand teaching conversations from his youth._ ‘You think, dearest, or you know?’ _had been a rather frequent refrain. “All right. I know I’m in love with her.”_

_He stood abruptly, and faced the fire. “I haven’t said anything to her. And I know we haven’t known each other long, but I think she cares for me as well.” He turned and looked down at his mother. “When I finally admitted to myself that I wanted to give up Society life and return to Grasmere, my first thought was whether she would want to go with me. And I can picture her there.” Sitting down, he reached for his mother’s hands, eyes not leaving her face. “I want her there. With me. With us. And I think you are going to love her.”_

_Margaret squeezed his hands as she tried to speak over the lump in her throat_. ‘Oh, Daniel, how very fast our son has grown up. And how proud of him you would be!’ _she thought._

_“If you love her, dearest,” she said gently, “how could I possibly do otherwise? Tell me about her?”_

_Harry bent down to hug her swiftly, then sat down again, green eyes ablaze as the words tumbled out. “She’s smart, and she makes me laugh, and she may one of the kindest people I have ever met. I told you about her family’s losses – despite everything she has been through, she is not embittered at all, and still thinks first of her remaining family’s happiness without thinking of her own.”_

_He chuckled fondly. “She’s loyal, too – won’t break any of Ginny’s confidences, even with me – and she memorizes music so that she can play the pianoforte with her eyes closed to better absorb it. She loves to read, and she loves nature, and she is so in touch with her magic – I could not even let myself think about pursuing a relationship with her when I was still uncertain as to what I wanted to do with my own life, because she was very clear that she did not want a life in Town. She says that she feels like half a person in Muggle society – it’s why she doesn’t think she can move to Bibury with her mother and sister-in-law. She wants to live in a magical community so that she can continue to learn and grow with her craft.”_

_Harry hesitated, and then continued quietly, “There has been an ease between us from our very first conversation. And sometimes when we are together, it just feels like my magic is reaching for hers in some way, and she feels the same.”_

_Well, she hadn’t expected_ THAT. _Margaret looked at her son closely, emerald eyes intent on his face. “Tell me more about that, dearest,” she said in a deceptively casual tone._

_“It’s difficult to describe exactly, and it is not constant, but sometimes when we look at one another or touch, there’s just this jolting awareness that shoots through us both … It is the most incredible sensation.”_

_His head dropped briefly as his voice trailed, then looked up with a slight smile. “You know, I have actually wanted to talk to you about this, but now that I am doing so, it feels very private. I will just say that neither of us have experienced this kind of feeling with anyone else.”_

_He realized abruptly that his mother was staring at him with an unreadable expression on her face, and was once again conscious of a slight chill. “What is it?” he asked._

_Margaret reached out and took Harry’s hand. “Darling, tell me what you know about soulmates.”_

o o o

Hermione stared at Margaret, and tried to think of what to say. “Harry seems to be a wonderful man,” she began carefully, then almost sagged in relief as Ginny entered the room. A second look at her friend had her eyebrows flying to the top of her head – Ginny was fully dressed and appeared fully awake. She stole a quick glance at the clock on the sideboard – it was almost half past seven, but that was very early for Ginevra.

Good mornings were exchanged and Ginny managed a wan smile at Hermione’s not-quite-gaping expression. “I couldn’t sleep,” she said. “I told Derian to come early, and I wanted to be ready.” 

Margaret and Hermione exchanged glances. “How early are you expecting him, darling?” Margaret asked carefully. “We haven’t yet seen your father this morning.”

“I told him to be here at half eight. I just couldn’t wait in my bedroom anymore.” She turned to Hermione. “I went to yours actually, knowing you are often awake early, but when you weren’t there, I thought I would find you here. I knew there would be tea, and I need it.” Hermione studied her friend, and could see that she was nearly sick with nerves. 

Lord Weasley and Lady Weasley entered the breakfast parlor, followed closely by their son. Ned grinned wickedly at his sister, as his mother pulled the bell rope to summon Kenneth. “We all wanted to be well fed before you start squealing over being engaged.”

“Hopefully, I will get to squeal,” Ginny muttered worriedly, too softly for her parents to hear as they greeted their houseguests. Ned slid into the chair beside her and gave her a brief one-armed hug.

“Hey,” he said quietly, “You do not have anything to worry about. Derian would have to be a fool not to want you in his life on a permanent basis. And not only is he _not_ a fool, he is head over ears in love with you, Ginevra.”

Ginny squeezed the hand wrapped around her shoulder and smiled a bit tremulously. Clearing her throat, she asked, “I thought you were leaving for another race?”

Ned nodded. “Yes, I sent Ebonian on ahead with the trainer a couple of days ago so that he can be well rested before he has to run. The race isn’t actually until tomorrow, so I’ll use the public Floo in Diagon Alley later today to travel to a tavern in a magical community a few miles away from my destination, rent a horse, and then ride to the race location from there.”

“What time are you leaving?” his sister asked.

“Not before Derian’s call, I can assure you of that.” He flicked her nose and Ginny responded with a grateful smile. Sometimes it wasn’t a bad thing to have a brother.

Servants entered carrying platters of food and the conversation turned general as plates were filled. There was no additional opportunity for Margaret to speak privately with Hermione, for which she was profoundly thankful.

o o o

Derian arrived promptly at half past eight, and was shown into Lord Weasley’s study, where his lordship awaited him. Some twenty minutes later, Lord Weasley entered the morning room, where Ginny waited anxiously with the other women and Ned. She released her grip on Hermione’s hand, and rose at her father’s entrance. 

Robert Weasley regarded his daughter gravely. “I have given my consent, Ginevra, and we have reached an accord with the marriage settlements. However, he understands that the final decision is yours. He is waiting for you now in my study.”

Ginny nodded. Without looking back, she left, head held high. 

“Oh heavens, I am so nervous for her!” Miriam Weasley said. Hermione felt the same. She liked Derian a good deal, but Ginny’s disclosure would be a lot for him to take in, and having to Obliviate him and decline his offer would crush her friend.

Robert patted his wife’s shoulder, then sat beside her on the sofa and took her hand. “Have some faith in the lad, Miriam. As I recall, it went fairly well when you had this conversation with me.”

Miriam leaned against her husband gratefully. “It did indeed, and it seems like just yesterday that I was walking to my father’s study to talk to you.”  
  


“With me waiting outside just in case it went poorly,” Margaret murmured. She looked at Ned, who nodded, and exited. He would linger in the foyer until the couple came out of the study. Just in case.

o o o

Ginny was never able to recall afterward exactly what Derian said during his proposal. She vaguely remembered later that he had gotten down on one knee and took her hand, and she vividly recalled that his heart was in his eyes while he was speaking. Unfortunately, the fact that she was nearly sick with apprehension meant that she could not quite concentrate on what he was saying.

She tried to look attentive and even told herself to be sure to take in the moment, knowing that if all went well, she would want to recall every detail. Unfortunately, the repetition in her brain of _‘What if he rejects me?’_ was all that she could hear.

Certain things filtered through her petrified fog – the dust mites dancing in the sunbeam that was shining through the window, the faded colors of the antique rug Derian knelt on, the way the navy blue of his superfine morning coat brought out the beautiful blue of his eyes, the wave in her beloved’s dark blonde hair that she secretly hoped their children would inherit, the _tick tock_ of the grandfather clock on the wall to her left that was not helping her nerves. 

She could see that Derian’s mouth was still moving, and tried to bring her focus back to his words while her treacherous mind asked again _‘What if he rejects me?’_ Her stomach roiled, and she bitterly regretted her decision to eat breakfast, even though she’d had nothing other than a few sips of tea and a few nibbles from her roll. _‘Will he withdraw the offer if I vomit onto his head?’_ she wondered a bit wildly.

She tried again to force her mind to attend to Derian’s words and was rewarded by hearing him say, “Will you, Ginny? Will you be my wife?” 

Oh God, it was her turn. Tears sprung to her eyes, and with a fervent wordless prayer, she gently tugged him to his feet, then removed her hand from his, only to cup his dear face. 

“Derian,” she asked softly, “Do you believe in magic?”

o o o

Forty minutes after Ned had left the morning room to pace the foyer, the study door partially opened. Ned froze, while behind him, his family and their guests – who had long since opened the door to the morning room - stepped out to join him. 

The door to the study had opened no further, and there was silence from within. After exchanging tense looks with his parents, Ned took two strides toward the other room, only to have its door finally swing wide. A radiant, obviously well-kissed Ginny appeared with a beaming Derian behind her, holding her hand as if he would never let it go.

“We’re engaged!” Ginny crowed, and for once Miriam Weasley did not even think of commenting on her daughter’s want of decorum. Instead, she burst into happy tears and barreled her son aside on her way to hug the joyful couple.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N – We are very close to the conclusion now. Two more chapters will do it, I think. Thanks for reading – reviews are appreciated!


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry and Hermione discuss their feelings, the soulmate bond, and their feelings about the soulmate bond. And then there were weddings....

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N – The first scene in this chapter picks up immediately after the last scene of Chapter 20.

After hugs all around, and at Margaret Potter’s suggestion, Ned headed upstairs to Floo call Harry’s valet from his mother’s bedroom. Wilkins would give Harry the happy news, and the family’s invitation to join them when he could and remain for a celebratory luncheon.

Robert and Miriam Weasley asked to see the happy couple in the library for a few minutes. Ginny’s glowing face told them that the discussion with Derian had gone well, but as parents they wanted to assess his reaction for themselves. Robert also thought Derian might appreciate the reminder that he too was a Muggle in love with a magical – once the shock wore off, Derian might have questions he would feel more comfortable posing to someone of a similar background.

Hermione found herself alone with Lady Potter once more. Before she could excuse herself, Margaret asked if she would mind strolling with her in the small rose garden given the lovely morning. 

Unable to think of a polite reason to refuse, Hermione assented and retrieved her shawl while the footman went upstairs for Margaret’s own wrap. Thus attired against the chill, the women exited the house through the French doors, with Hermione fervently hoping that Lady Potter did not plan to ask again what she thought of Harry.

After a brief chat about the beauty of the day and the fragrance of the flowers, Margaret stopped at the back of the garden and regarded Hermione solemnly. “I wanted to thank you, Hermione,” she said. “And to tell you that I believe I am in your debt.”

Hermione stopped walking as well, and startled brown eyes flew to meet grave green ones. “I beg your pardon?” 

Smiling slightly, Margaret took her arm as they resumed their stroll. “Harry has told you there is a plan for him to exit Society.” It did not seem to be a question, and Hermione did not respond. 

“You probably know that he has been increasingly unhappy with his life in the Muggle world for a while,” Margaret continued. “What he may not have told you is that before meeting you, he seemed unwilling or unable to alter the course for his life that he believed his father had laid out for him.” 

She stopped again, leaning over an overblown lavender rose and closing her eyes briefly as she inhaled its perfume, then straightening and turning back to face the younger woman. “I believe it was your steadfast resolve to remain firmly in the magical world yourself that resulted in his epiphany. For that, my dear, I will be eternally grateful.”

Somewhat bewildered, Hermione said, “I thank you, Lady Potter, but I believe you are under a misapprehension. I never suggested that Harry give up his title, nor would I have thought it appropriate to have done so. Indeed, we never discussed the matter before his decision was made.”

Margaret gestured toward the gazebo and at Hermione’s nod they mounted the steps and settled themselves on opposite benches. “I believe you, my dear,” Margaret said. “Nonetheless, I am convinced you were the catalyst for change.” 

Hermione opened her mouth to speak, but closed it when Margaret raised her hand slightly. “From what Miriam tells me, and from what Harry has shared, he was drawn to you from the beginning and he believed you felt the same. Yet instead of hurling yourself at his head as have countless debutantes over the past five years, you were clear from the start that you knew your own life lay elsewhere. 

“When my son learned that your family planned to relocate to a Muggle community for your nephew’s benefit, he was incensed that they would leave you, but never seriously considered that you would go with them. When I questioned him on the subject, he said that he did not know why you would want to live around Muggles all the time, and that you would be living only half a life if you were to do that.”

Margaret smiled a bit mistily. “It is a difficult thing to be the mother of sons, Hermione. To see sometimes so clearly what is best before they do, but to know they will be the stronger for it if they reach conclusions in their own time. I’d known Harry was unhappy, but he did not seem to be fully aware of it. I thought he would be happier returning to our magical community, yet he talked of taking his place in the House of Lords and fighting alongside Robert for social reform, as his father had done.

“That conversation about you changed everything, though. In realizing that he understood why you could not move with your family, Harry admitted to me – and finally to himself, I think - that he understood only because of his _own_ deep unhappiness in Muggle society. Once he recognized that, and gave himself time to reflect on it, what he wanted from his life fell into place. 

“If I had told him what I thought he needed, he may well have listened to me – ours has always been a close relationship. Yet he always would have wondered if he had made the right choice or perhaps he would have continued to try to live with his feet in both worlds, as Daniel and I did for so many years. In the end, I think, his deep inner conflict would have only made him unhappy in both. You _didn’t_ tell him what he should do, but your belief in your own course made him give thought to his. My son is going to have a happier life because of you, Hermione, and I will always be thankful to you for that.”

Hermione was not sure what to think. Harry had discussed her family situation with his mother? She wondered if that was before or after their trip to Richmond Park. She thought, however, that perhaps Lady Potter gave her too much credit in influencing his plans. In fact, …

Her thoughts were interrupted as she saw Margaret’s expression lighten mere moments before a shadow fell across the gazebo entrance. 

“Good morning, darling,” Margaret said, extending her cheek to her son for a kiss as he joined them.

“Good morning, ladies.” Harry’s grin encompassed them both as he seated himself next to Hermione. “So Ginny’s reveal didn’t scare Derian off? Does he know about me? I didn’t see him – the Weasleys still have him behind closed doors.”

Startled, Hermione realized that she didn’t know if Derian knew about her either. “I am not sure. Hopefully? Otherwise, he may be in for another shock.”

Margaret smiled. “If Ginny did not tell him initially, I feel certain that Robert and Miriam are telling him now. Robert is doubtless relieved that he will no longer be the only non-magical in the family. Now, if you will excuse me, I believe I am going to go see if I can get another cup of tea before luncheon.” 

Standing, she waved off Harry’s offer of escort as he and Hermione stood as well, and headed back toward the house.

Reseating themselves on the wooden bench, the young couple exchanged glances as they realized in the same moment that they were alone and out of view from the house. Somehow, Hermione found her hand clasped in both of Harry’s as a slow smile lit his face. 

“Good morning,” he said softly, emerald eyes intent on her face.

“Good morning,” Hermione returned, as she tried to figure out how to remove her shawl while not actually extracting her hand from his. It was an odd thing, to be sure, but the temperature seemed to have risen dramatically despite the shade of the gazebo. 

Eyes still on hers, Harry lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it, much as he had done the night before. The familiar sensation shuddered through them both, causing Hermione to briefly close her eyes. Still speaking quietly, Harry said, “I believe we have much to discuss.”

Hermione nodded, knowing she needed to tell him her mother’s suspicion about a possible soulmate bond between the two of them. Wishing that she could leave her eyes closed, she opened them nonetheless and gently removed her hand from his, using the opportunity to cast her shawl on the bench beside her. 

“We do. Harry, when I saw my family the other night, I mentioned the jolts we have sometimes felt. My mother – “

“Was afraid that it might be an indication of a soulmate bond?” He was regarding her calmly. “Mine too.”

“You _knew_?” She felt almost dizzy with relief. 

“I found out after church yesterday.”

She frowned. “Then you knew when….”

The grin was stealing back onto his face. “When I kissed you, yes.” He took her hand again. “I was not sure how that was going to go, but I can assure you it did not disappoint.”

She stared. _‘Did. Not. Disappoint.’_ She was not convinced she had heard him correctly, then realized he was still talking. 

“But perhaps we should try it again just to be sure?” His grin had turned quite wicked, and Hermione was profoundly thankful that she was seated, given the weakness in her knees as he started to trace the veins on her wrist with a forefinger.

Once again, she extracted her hand, and this time folded both hands primly in her lap. “So you kissed me in an effort to form your own conclusion about whether we were soulmates?” An inquiring eyebrow arched in his direction.

It was Harry’s turn to stare. “No. I kissed you because I had been wanting to kiss you every time I see you for a while now, and because you had started to look as if you were thinking about kissing me too.” 

Hermione blushed at his candor, but he continued. “And I had told you in the parlor that there was a plan in place to remove me from Muggle society, and you had told me that you weren’t going to go rushing off anywhere before we could talk. Hermione, the _only_ reason I was leaving was because I was about two seconds from kissing you in front of the whole room, propriety be damned. 

“But instead of kissing you, I asked if you would stroll with me after luncheon today, and I thought I would tell you about the whole soulmate thing then so I could tell you I didn’t care. Then I could declare myself and you could accept and _then_ I would kiss you. That was my plan – I was going to do everything the right way. But suddenly we were alone on the landing and I honestly thought I was going to die if I didn’t touch you and you were looking at me like you felt the exact same way and then,” he made a helpless gesture, “we were kissing.”

She was not quite certain how he had possessed himself of her hand again, but could not try to sort it out while she was trying to remember how to breathe at the same time. _‘Did he say he had planned to declare himself?’_

Harry interpreted her silence as his cue to keep speaking. “As for the soulmate bond, it seems probable, given what my mother knew and what we have experienced together. But Hermione,” he squeezed her hand, “I felt a connection to you from the first time we met. And that had nothing to do with any discarded soul fragments we may or may not be carrying around. I liked _talking_ to you. That immediate connection that I had with you had me feeling slightly panicked at the thought of seeing you again, and I ended up sabotaging my plan to do so at Almack’s the next night, because some part of me already knew you were going to turn my life upside down.”

He kissed her hand again. “If I had been motivated solely by the bond, don’t you think I’d have been there early as opposed to not showing up at all?” His brows raised.

Well. She actually had never considered that. Her mother’s information had made her terrified that he had been attracted to her only because of a mystical bond. She had been concerned ever since that at some point he would feel trapped by her or by circumstances beyond their control, assuming his own feelings were engaged as hers were. And although she had felt confident in her own feelings for him, there had still been a bit of niggling doubt underneath it all that worried she perhaps was under the influence of some type of magical compulsion without recognizing it.

However, she now recalled how furious she’d been when he had not appeared at Almack’s and how ready she had been to leave town when she got the brief note from the next day. 

She remembered how she almost had not accepted his apology because she had wanted to know whether he was genuinely remorseful.

And how she had flared up at him in Richmond Park when he’d implied her family was treating her poorly. 

Her magic was clearly drawn to his – she couldn’t deny the reaction – but on reflection, she could honestly say that she had never felt compelled by it in her interactions with him. 

“You’re not saying anything, and it is probably because I am making a mess of this. It’s not even for the first time – I always seem to put my foot in my mouth with you. But here’s the thing: I love you, Hermione Granger. I love _you_. I love your kindness, and your bravery, and your compassion, and your wit, and the way that you play music with your eyes closed, and the fact that you know what you want. I love the way you blush when I tease you. I love the way I can talk to you, and the way I can be quiet with you, and the way you cast every other woman in the vicinity into the shade when you walk into a room and the way that you don’t even notice that you do that. I love your mind, and dancing with you, and the fact that you want to live your life in a magical community.”

He drew a slightly shaky breath. “I don’t hate the jolts, but I would love kissing you if we never felt another one. And yes, this bond or whatever it is might be the reason I feel sometimes like my magic is reaching out for yours, but I am happy whenever I am in your company, whether – “

He was cut off when Hermione once again took her hand away, only to fling herself at him and cover his mouth with her own. 

“I love you too,” she said tearily, some minutes later, now seated on his lap with her arms around his neck and his firmly around her waist. “I love _you_ , Harry. And I have to tell you that I hated the idea that we were attracted to each other only because we are carrying fragments from other souls around with us, and I still don’t much like the idea that when one of us dies, the other one will as well, but – “

It was his turn to interrupt her with a kiss. When they came up for air, he said softly, “That just gives us both an incentive to be careful and to take care of each other, so that we can both live happily ever after.”

“I don’t even understand how I could grow up in a magical village and never even know that soulmates were real. Harry, I _cried_ after my mother told me she thought that was what was happening. I did not want this.”

He kissed her forehead. “I confess I was a bit shaken as well. Until recently, it felt like so much of my life had been pre-planned for me, and that this could be another instance of that. Mother explained though that we do have free will, and that the connection we share would dissipate with time if we chose to part. Apparently, if the fragments we hold are not joined in our lifetimes, they would be distributed again in the future for another chance.”

She rested her head against his. “That makes me feel somewhat better.” She chuckled softly. “Mine was the opposite reaction, I fear – so little of my life has felt like it was within my control the past few years, and this seemed to be just one more thing that wasn’t. And then my mother confided she did not know much about the subject, but she seemed to think that had I married William and then somehow met you, I would have been miserable for the rest of my life. THAT didn’t help, I assure you! Abby said that was bosh, though.”

He nodded. “I think it is. My mother did seem to know a good bit about the subject, even though she says my father and she were not soulmates. She has always been interested in obscure magic.”

Hermione sat up. “I think that bothered me more than anything – hearing that my parents were not soulmates. It seemed so sad, but both Abby and Mama said that many happy couples were not and that some unhappy couples _were._ Then they told me both families had soulmates in the family tree - I still don’t know why I never knew that. Mama said it isn’t talked of much, but she didn’t say why.”

His green eyes were troubled. “I think I know. Mother said that some were so taken with the concept of soulmates at one time that some pretty Dark rituals were undertaken to discover the identity and location of one’s match, and even efforts to determine the original owners of the soul fragments, though she did not think anyone had ever gotten very far with that bit. Unfortunately, there was more success in identifying others with a matching fragment. Some revealed to be a match were kidnapped and forced into marriage. Some who were already married saw their spouses killed in front of them, only to be forcibly joined with the murderer. The Ministry eventually stepped in to outlaw the identification rituals, and many of the witches and wizards who’d been a part of them were put through the Veil. Soulmate couples were encouraged not to discuss the subject, and over time it just became the accepted custom _not_ to talk about being a soulmate.” 

She shuddered. “To keep people from seeking information they were not meant to have. But that surely increased the amount of time it takes for the poor soul fragments to find one another again ….” Her voice trailed off as she considered the matter.

Harry held her tighter. “To be honest, I’m not sure we’re supposed to know much about why there are fragments in the first place, and it could well be that Mother Magic never meant the rejoining process to be an easy one. That is a subject best left to the Fates.” 

Feeling it was time for a subject change, he nudged her with his shoulder, and added, “I think we should concentrate on how lucky we are to have found each other. If that makes the soul fragments happy too, then so be it, but we agree we are together because we want to be?” 

At her swift agreement, he stole another kiss, and said, “I love you, Hermione Granger,” to which she softly responded, “I love you too, Harry.” They kissed again, and this kiss quickly grew heated.

Hermione finally pulled back and ran her hand down the side of his handsome face. She shivered a bit at the love she saw blazing there and felt incredibly humbled by it. “I can only hope, Lord Potter,” she murmured, “that you weren’t just teasing me when you implied you had some intention of declaring yourself today.” She kissed him again gently. “Because I must tell you I am very nearly certain that my answer is going to be yes.” Her eyes sparkled with mischief.

He loved how she could always make him laugh. “Only very nearly certain?” He regarded her with mock-seriousness while his own eyes danced. “You might not be aware of this, Miss Granger, but I can be extremely persuasive when I need to be. Did I ever tell you how I came to be a dog owner when I was a lad?”

She bit her lip - which immediately dropped his gaze, to her secret satisfaction - and buried her hands in his thick black hair, causing his lids to droop. “A tantrum, wasn’t it? Alas, my family tells me I can be incredibly stubborn on occasion and quite impervious to all types of persuasion, tantrums included, as my poor nephew can attest. If you’re determined to _try_ to persuade me though, perhaps you’ll find another method that might be more successful ….?” She let her voice trail suggestively, shivering again as he gave her a smoldering glance through his half-closed eyes.

“You’ll find, my good witch, that I am persuasive _and_ creative,” he murmured, as he kissed his way up her neck. “Not to mention incredibly determined.”

o o o

Sometime later, after extensive persuasion was applied rather effectively in their mutual opinions, Harry’s question was asked and Hermione’s assent was secured. As they returned to the house, conscious of the fact that luncheon was to celebrate Ginny’s engagement to Derian, they were determined to say nothing yet of their own commitment. In the end, they didn’t have to. 

The group turned to greet them when Harry opened the door and held it for Hermione to enter ahead of him. She looked over her shoulder to thank him and he smiled back at her. 

That was all it took for Ginny. “Did he…? Are you…?” she gasped. Hermione’s blush gave her away, and Ginny burst into tears, running forward to hug both of her friends. “Oh God, I did not know there was anything that could make me any happier today, but…” Ginny and Hermione were both crying and clinging to one another. “I’m so happy for you,” both witches were saying.

Extricating himself from their embrace, Harry exchanged horrified looks with Derian while Ned and the older adults chuckled.

“I don’t think either of us slept much last night,” Hermione finally said to Harry, after she had released Ginny and taken his hand. “And it has been an emotional morning for us both.”

“It’s true,” Ginny explained to Derian, accepting his handkerchief, and leaning her head against his shoulder. “And these were happy tears.”

Ned started laughing as Harry and Derian were both clearly thinking _‘They cry when they’re HAPPY?’_

“You have a lot to learn, gents. You have a lot to learn!”

o o o

A notice announcing the engagement of Miss Ginny Weasley to Lord Derian Clarkson went to _The Times_ the next morning. The banns were called for the first time the following Sunday, and the wedding took place four weeks later, just before the end of the London social season. 

Hermione returned home after the wedding to spend a few weeks with her family before their move, now set for late August. Abby had found a house to purchase in Bibury’s central district and planned to convert the large front room for her shop displays and customer interactions, with the family primarily living on the upper floors. The home had a walled garden behind it, which would provide a secure area for her active son to play. 

She had already struck an acquaintance with a milliner who lived on the same street. She and her husband had a four year old son, and the boys took to one another immediately. Alex was excited about the move as it meant he would get to see Nate every day.

Abby’s brother Sebastian was getting married in the fall, and he and his fiancée were excited at the prospect of renting The Grange to start their new life. As she helped her mother remove the Holland covers from the furniture in rooms that were not in current use, Hermione hoped Sebastian’s family would be as happy in the house as hers had once been. She thought of her father and her brother and how much she loved them. Somehow, she knew they would be pleased for her.

Stevens was happy at the thought of retiring with a pension at the end of the Season, and he and Harry were actively engaged in closing up Potter House. Harry made a point though to spend some time with the Muggles he was closest to. He couldn’t tell anyone goodbye, of course, but did say he thought he was rethinking his plan to take his place in the House of Lords and was planning to spend at least the next year traveling. As he and his friends reminisced over pints and roared with laughter at some of the memories, he carefully examined his feelings to see if he had any doubts. He found none – only excitement at the prospect of starting his new life. 

Toward the end of his time in London, he went to see Robert Weasley present a paper to Parliament. In watching him, he could not help but think of his father. He wished he’d had a chance to talk to him about his change in plans and about the woman he loved. Then he went home, poured himself a brandy in his closed study and talked to him anyway. 

“We’ll be using the blood that you left with Mother in the ritual,” he concluded. “I know you had different hopes for my future, Father, but it means the world to me that you worked to give me a choice. I will always be thankful that I was your son, and you were the best father any man or wizard could ever hope to have.” He had to dash his hand across his eyes at the end of it all, but for the first time in a long time felt like he was completely at peace.

Harry Floo called every night with Hermione after she left London, and spent some time with her most weekends, either at The Grange or at Grasmere. Hermione had thoroughly charmed everyone on the estate, and she and Margaret got along every bit as well as he had hoped they would, laying the groundwork for what would clearly become a close relationship in the years to come. Harry in turn had impressed Hermione’s family, and Hermione could not but fall in love with him all over again when watching him playing with Alex. “He’s going to be a wonderful father,” Abby whispered. Hermione could only nod, her heart too full to speak.

o o o

The spell that would free Harry was scheduled to coincide with Lammas, the Sun feast at the beginning of August that celebrated the harvest and rebirth. Since Margaret feared magical exhaustion afterward for everyone involved, Harry and Hermione were to be married at Grasmere the Saturday before, two days prior to the ritual.

Lord and Lady Weasley, the new Lord and Lady Clarkson, Ned, and Hermione’s family arrived at Grasmere for a house party the week before the wedding. They would remain for a week after the spell was cast. 

Margaret, Hermione, and Harry enjoyed showing Derian, Elizabeth, Abby and Alex around Grasmere, the Potter factories and the magical community surrounding them. Ned and Ginny had seen it all before, but often tagged along on the tours – Ginny because she enjoyed watching her husband learn more about the magical world, and Ned because he was increasingly taken by Hermione’s quiet, blonde sister-in-law. (“It’s going to be a while before she is ready to think about moving on,” he told Harry over a pint one evening. “But when she is, I hope she will consider moving on with me.”)

Margaret made sure she pointed out that the Potter factories employed Muggles as well as magicals and Squibs. “I can work here one day?” Alex cried joyfully. “And Mommy can work with me?” Abby hastily reminded her son that she planned to make hats, not throw pots, but that he could certainly pursue a pottery career when he was grown if he wished to do so. She was glad they would have a community to escape to where her son would be accepted and where she could re-nurture her own magic on occasion. 

Margaret quietly said to Elizabeth that she hoped she would consider their village if she were ever to consider another move. “I know Hermione would love to have you closer,” she said. 

Elizabeth understood what Margaret was carefully not saying. “Why are you so sure Abby will remarry? We didn’t.” Margaret nodded, but said, “We didn’t, but if we had lost our husbands when our children were so young, do you think our decisions might have been different?” Elizabeth admitted she had a point, and confided she had already gotten Abby to agree that they would quietly have the fireplace in their new home converted to a Floo, in the hopes that Elizabeth would have other grandchildren to visit in the months or years to come. The two women exchanged conspiratorial grins at the thought of future grandchildren. They couldn’t wait.

It really could not be called surprising that everyone got along so well, given the longstanding friendships between the Weasleys and the Potters, between Hermione and Ginny, and between Harry, Ned and Derian. Elizabeth, Abby, and Alex were quickly considered part of the extended family. The house party was such a success, in fact, that long before the wedding, everyone had agreed that the gathering would be at least an annual event. “Though not on our anniversary, as I expect we will have other plans,” Harry announced, to general laughter and his fiancée’s blushes.

The two had not yet consummated their relationship, though it had proven difficult to stop on more than one occasion. Oddly, since they had agreed to plight their troth in the gazebo, the jolting sensations of the soul bond had lessened in frequency. That was probably, Harry told Hermione, because their senses were already overwhelmed with the desire between them whenever they touched. She agreed completely, and both were anxiously awaiting their wedding night.

The jolts, when they did occur, now reverberated with greater intensity and they expected their joining could prompt an overwhelming magical response. This was a big factor in their decision to wait to consummate the relationship – they each sensed they would want to be assured of no interruptions and of private recovery time.

The day of their wedding was sunny and warm. The ceremony was held in the Grasmere chapel, redolent with the smells of flowers and incense, with only the house party members in attendance. The obvious emotion behind the vows meant there was not a dry eye in the house by the time the ceremony was finished, but audience tears were quickly followed by gasps when Harry finally kissed his bride – as they watched the kiss continue, golden sparks seemed to explode from and then surround the couple. Lost in each other, the bride and groom didn’t notice, but learned all about it at the wedding breakfast that followed.

o o o

Though the wedding celebration ran quite late, Harry and Hermione slipped through the Floo at dusk, retreating to the dower house at The Grange, where they would spend the next two nights alone. Their mothers had brought over food, several bottles of wine, and their luggage earlier in the day. By silent mutual agreement, they ignored all of it. 

“I cannot decide whether I am excited or terrified,” Hermione confided, as she led her new husband up the stairs and into her bedroom. 

Harry grinned at her. “You relieve me, wife, because I am very sure I am both!” Sitting on the bed to remove his boots and stockings, he looked up when she stepped out of her shoes to say huskily, “May I just say, Lady Potter, that you were the most beautiful bride that this or any other world has ever seen.”

She blushed in the way that he loved, as he had known she would. He stood and reached for her, and she returned his kiss fervently, running her hands through his amazing hair in a way that she knew never failed to make his eyes half close in pleasure. Sure enough, the smoldering look that she loved had ignited and she basked in its glow. “Lady Potter? I suppose I am, for another two days anyway. Even if no one knows it.” 

He pulled away enough to turn her so that he could more easily access the buttons on the back of her dress. He dropped kisses down the length of her spine as he slipped each one from its silken loop. “I will try to bow and scrape enough during the next two days to provide you with a lifetime of happy memories, your ladyship.” 

After opening the final button, Harry found that his hands were shaking slightly as he pushed the dress off of her shoulders and let it fall to the floor. He felt like he had been waiting to wed this woman for half of his life. Finally, finally, she was his _wife_.

Clad only in a sleeveless thin cotton chemise that ended above her knees and in silk stockings fastened to white lace garters, Hermione turned toward Harry and let him look his fill. Intense feminine satisfaction pooled within her at the gob smacked look on his face as he stared. 

When she had imagined this moment while getting dressed this morning, she had not been entirely certain that she would not be bolting for the protection of the bedcovers once the dress was removed. She was glad now that she hadn’t, and made a mental note to tell Ginny she had been right.

“No bowing and scraping required, my husband,” she said softly, stepping closer and reaching for his cravat while he hastily shrugged out of his coat. “I ask only for you to honor your vows tonight.” 

Harry was struggling to think. He’d made vows - they both had, he knew that - but at this exact moment he had no idea what they were. All he could really focus on was the sheer material covering her breasts. He tried to concentrate, and felt a vague memory form. “For richer or poorer, in sickness and in health?” he asked. 

Having successfully unknotted his neckcloth, albeit not precisely in a way his valet would approve of, Hermione tossed it aside, then reached up to pull out her hairpins, letting them fall to the floor as her hair tumbled down, its wild wavy mass reaching nearly to her waist. She rewarded his whimper with a sensuous smile, but his answer received a slow head shake. “Not that one.” 

She leaned closer still to whisper in his ear. “I was thinking about when you pledged ‘With my body,’” she nipped his earlobe, “’I thee worship.’” 

A wandless _Evanesco_ took care of his shirt, and now it was her turn to stare. God, he was beautiful. “I have often thought,” she murmured, while her greedy hands roamed his chest, “that is ridiculously unfair for you to be this attractive.”

He grabbed her and hauled her against him, leaving her in no doubt of the effect her words and body had had on him. “Oddly enough, witch,” he said hoarsely, “I’ve often thought the same about you.” His lips crushed hers in a searing kiss and sensation exploded through them both.

An unknown amount of time later, they were somehow kneeling facing one another on the bed, though neither had any memory of moving there. Their hands collided at the fall of his breeches - after several desperate seconds, Harry muttered his own _Evanesco_ and his breeches and drawers joined his shirt in whatever universe vanished items went to. 

Hermione stilled, her brown eyes widening at the sight of her husband’s aroused body. Harry warned himself to wait on her. Since she was still gasping for breath, however, the distracting rise and fall of her breasts under the thin chemise threatened to put the plan’s success in imminent peril. 

Hearing his groan and seeing the corresponding response of his body to her gaze, Hermione felt a renewed flicker of excitement at the reminder of her power over him. He was staring at her like she was dessert and Christmas, and sweet heaven, it was unbelievably intoxicating. His obvious desire was fueling her own.

Remembering something else that Ginny had told her, she ran her hands slowly down her sides until they grasped her garters. “Would you like to roll down my stockings?” she whispered in what she hoped was a seductive tone, looking up at him under her lashes.

“Leave them on,” was his tortured reply, and something deep within Hermione pulsed at his tone. “What about my chemise?” she murmured. 

“That’s _mine!_ ” Harry said, as his control snapped. Grabbing the chemise at the neck, he ripped it straight down the middle. Ignoring his wife’s startled _“Eep!”_ , he seized her around the waist, then bent forward to lower his lips to her left breast. 

At the first flick of his tongue, her back arched like a bow and her legs gave way, sending her tumbling to the bed with him on top of her, both of them panting for air. Harry ran his hand up her flank to tease her right breast while he bent his head again to the other. After a few moments, she whimpered and struggled against him, muttering something he initially couldn’t quite catch. He pulled back a bit and realized she was saying “Wait a minute, wait a minute,” while trying to sit up. 

He let her, although it was probably the hardest thing he’d ever had to do in his life. “Hermione?” he said uncertainly. 

She was pulling off the tattered remains of the chemise, and he belatedly realized it had been trapping her arms at her sides. Finally free, she tossed the pieces on the floor, throwing her arms around his neck, thrusting her tongue into his mouth, and twining one silk-covered leg around his in a way that he was fairly certain was going to destroy what was left of his brain.

Falling back onto the soft pillows and taking him down with her, she separated his mouth from hers by the simple expedient of pulling the hair on the back of his head. 

“Harry,” she said breathlessly when her lips were free, “do that again.” An emphatic nod in the direction of her breasts left no doubt as to the nature of her request. 

God, he loved her. “With my body,” he said raggedly, “I thee worship.”, setting about to honor his lady’s request.

o o o

The candles had long since guttered out, but the breaking dawn outside the open window brought with it enough light for Hermione to see Harry’s green eyes open. “Are you all right?” he muttered thickly, trying to gauge her expression.

She nodded slowly, raising her hand to cup his face then sliding it into his silky hair. “Never better,” she murmured. 

He reached out to haul her against him, and she rested her head on his chest. “I think we’re officially bonded now,” she said. She felt the rumble of his chuckle under her cheek. “I have no doubt of it,” he replied, running a hand down her warm back.

“My magic feels … different,” she said.

Harry contemplated his own for a moment, then nodded. “Mine too. It’s not reaching for yours anymore. It seems rather settled.”

“So the fragments are joined together again. I wonder which of us got custody,” she mused.

Dropping a kiss upon her curls, Harry replied, “After last night, it wouldn’t surprise me to learn that they simultaneously combusted. But we know if they did, they died happy.”

Giggling, she leaned up to kiss him. “Yes, they did. As consummations go, I thought ours was rather spectacular. Not that I have much basis for comparison.”

Grinning wickedly, her husband said, “Well, you at least have a _few_ instances to compare now ….”

“I’m not sure we can really take credit for the first one. I can’t remember much after the magic seized us until that big flare of light, and then we were insensible.” Their magic had taken control soon after their bodies were joined, pulsing through them in unrelenting shock waves that had each of them crying out helplessly as their bodies coupled. It had culminated in an explosion of golden light that had illuminated the room even as it launched them both immediately into unconsciousness.

He kissed her back. “We are definitely counting the first one. The magic may have taken over toward the end, but it was all us at the beginning.” Looking at her admiringly, he added, “I actually am amazed I was able to go through with it, because I really thought I was going to explode when you asked if I wanted to roll down your stockings and started fingering your garters. I was _not_ expecting that, Lady Potter!”

She sat bolt upright. “That was Ginny’s fault! She said men liked to do that!” She blushed. “Well, at least Derian does. You didn’t, obviously.”

Laughing, Harry pulled her back down. “No, I do, definitely. But the sight of you in those stockings and then the tempting thought of that silk against my legs…”

“And other things,” she murmured. She might not have known much about what she was doing the first time, but had quite enjoyed experimenting the times after that. She had always had a very scientific mind – it came with potions work - and cataloging her husband’s various reactions to things had been a very enjoyable form of research. _’My husband,’_ she thought a bit smugly. She liked the sound of it, and planned on being a very good wife indeed.

“We could do some stocking rolling now,” Harry said hopefully. 

Hermione shook her head. “They were too hot. I peeled them off when I woke up.” _‘That pout is adorable,’_ she thought. She pushed him onto his back and climbed onto his thighs. Leaning in for a kiss, and letting her hair trail his chest, she whispered, “May I make it up to you?” 

He flipped them without warning, laughing at her startled shriek. As his hands traveled down her back to pull her toward him, he hesitated. “You’re not too sore?” he asked.

She shook her head again while trying to tug him down to her. “Your mother gave me a cream she had made. I applied it, um, _there_ a couple of hours ago.” She couldn’t look him in the eye, he noticed, and even in the dim light of the room, he could tell her face was flooded with color. He didn’t think he would ever get tired of seeing her blush. “I feel fine now, I promise.”

Reassured, he resumed the kiss and “ _With my body, I thee worship,"_ was Hermione's last coherent thought for a while.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N - Well, gentle readers, we have all survived my first effort at writing a bedroom scene. And while it is not explicit, it has changed the story rating from T to M.
> 
> One more chapter, I think, and then this one will be complete. Thanks for reading! Reviews are appreciated.


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